


Widow's Pique

by tielan



Series: Black Jewels Atlantis [1]
Category: Black Jewels - Anne Bishop, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Black Jewels Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Conflict, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Matriarchy, Romance, Teyla Being Awesome, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-05
Updated: 2012-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-28 23:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Atlantis Territory, Lady Melia has ruled as Queen for decades, holding the land safe in her care. But now Lady Melia's health wavers and with it trembles the future of the Territory. Black Widow Teyla Emmagan has been called to court to serve the Queen, but her arrival in the court will precipitate events that even Teyla cannot predict for all her training in the Hourglass Craft...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Widow's Pique

**Author's Note:**

> Gifted to starry_haze for the SGA Santa 2011.

Teyla felt the tension the instant she stepped off the Landing web.

The psychic currents in the garden were faint as a line of spidersilk by twilight and delicate as the strands of a tangled web, but they sang to her senses like Witchsong.

Before her, the gardens of Atlantis court stretched out. Long gravel pathways meandered through trimmed hedges of flowers and leaves, past pruned trees taller than any house in Athos, and around elegant marble statues that cost more than the combined monthly incomes of the entire village. A picture-perfect landscape as unlike Teyla’s village as could possibly be imagined.

And yet beneath the beauty, uncertainty lurked.

What she felt was not the scent of corruption and decay; Teyla knew the feel of that taint and the land here was clean, the people cared for, the Queens who ruled Atlantis Territory true to the Darkness from which all Blood came - whether aristo, merchant, or commoner.

No, this was the first faint undercurrents of trouble, lurking beneath the calm surface of the court - a tangling uncertainty, a clinging doubt, a lingering fear.

If things were not wrong in Atlantis court, then they were not wholly right either.

Was that why she had been called here; sent in Charin's stead to spin a dream-web for the Queen of Atlantis Territory?

As a small group of finely-dressed people approached the Landing Web, Teyla supposed she was about to find out.

Beside her, her escort stirred, roused from his awed stare at the magnificence of the gardens around them by the approaching males and the young Queen who led them. “Teyla?” Toran touched her arm, fingers pressing light upon her skin in question. "Are you ready for this?"

“No," she said, a faint, wry smile touching her lips as she contemplating her own doubts of her skill. “But that is not something in which I have a choice, is it?”

She hoped her uncertainty did not show. While she was accustomed to serving the witches and males of her village and the villages of her province, a Queen’s court was another matter - and the Queen of Atlantis Territory was something else yet.

And yet, when Charin had received the request for her services as a Black Widow from Lady Melia, she had called Teyla to go in her stead. “ _You know all that I know, and some besides. You have tended to Athos and the villages around us since you were eighteen, Teyla. Now you must learn about the ways of a Queen’s court._ ”

Teyla was not so certain she wished to learn. If she was sure in her Craft, in the arts of the Hourglass, she was less certain of the group coming towards her.

“Teyla Emmagan? Of Athos?” The witch who spoke was of an age with Teyla, perhaps two or three years older, dark-haired and pale-skinned, with greenish eyes and a warm, welcoming smile as she held out her hands, palms down. “Welcome to Atlantis court. I’m Elizabeth Weir, of the Lady Melia’s First Circle.”

Teyla brought her hands palm-up beneath Elizabeth’s, matching the greeting, even as she noted the tension among the males of Elizabeth's escort.

She was surprised at the formal gesture - an age-old greeting of trust given and trust received. As the recipient would bring her hands under the palms of the other, there was a moment when the wrist was open to a nail’s vicious slice. When greeting a natural Black Widow, it was a gesture all the more dangerous.

For a moment, she wondered if the young Queen was an innocent or a fool. Then she looked into ageless green eyes and knew the other witch to be neither.

Trust given and trust received; Teyla lifted her hands, palm up, to meet Elizabeth’s greeting.

"Sister," she said, smiling. "This is my escort, Toran Arungen of Athos."

Toran bowed respectfully to Elizabeth, graceful and neat. "Lady Weir." He'd kept one step behind Teyla, both guarding her back and making it clear that he was merely her escort and therefore beneath their notice.

With a wave of one hand, Elizabeth indicated the two oldest males in the group. "These are members of Lady Melia's First Circle - Lord Anders Sharam and Prince Harrison Weir."

Lord Sharam merely inclined his head, the bare minimum of civil notice, but Prince Weir put out his hands, palms down, for the respectful greeting.

"I'm also Elizabeth's father," he said with a smile. "If that wasn't clear."

"Father." Elizabeth said, a little exasperated.

"I inferred that," Teyla said, amused by the young Queen's reaction, and touched by Prince Weir's courtesy. His dark hair was streaked with grey, but the lines in his face were as much laughter as age. A good-natured man, she sensed, and one who'd had a firm hand in his daughter's upbringing. Teyla warmed to him without difficulty. "My father would say that it was the right of a father to embarrass his daughter with affection; just as it was the right of a daughter to disdain it in the name of public pride."

The laughter lines creased. "A wise man."

"So he often told me.”

Carson Beckett was next, a sturdy Prince with easy blue eyes over an easy smile. He held out his hands for the courteous greeting without hesitation or halt, and his fingertips against her wrist were as warm as his smile.

"Lady Emmagan. Welcome to Atlantis. I hope you enjoy your time here."

"As do I, Prince Beckett."

His accent was unlike that of the others, a softer, more melodious rise and fall of syllables, and as she decided that she liked the songlike tones of it. While she could feel the protectiveness within him, it was restrained, presently dormant.

Not so the next male gestured forward.

Teyla fought back the urge to tense in the face of the first of two Warlord Princes. He hesitated before he held out his hands, and the hesitation was more insult than if he’d chosen to forgo the greeting entirely. Against her palms, his fingers were as cold as the blue-grey gaze that regarded her, calculated her worth, and dismissed her. Clearly, Prince Marshall Sumner considered Teyla's presence unnecessary and unwelcome even as he murmured the appropriate platitudes of greeting.

Behind her, she felt Toran bristle, and sent him a soft warning on a private thread as she answered quite as politely.

*He could not have made his dislike clearer than if he had spat in the dust,* Toran protested.

*He is a Warlord Prince with a Queen to protect and serve.*

*Then you will not mind if I spit in the dust when he greets me, as I have a young Black Widow to protect and serve?*

Teyla bit back a laugh. *You presume he will greet you at all.*

Prince Sumner’s response troubled her only a little. She was accustomed to suspicion and wariness - the Hourglass Coven was not always held in high regard, and Black Widows were not generally considered ‘safe’ witches to know - not when they dealt in visions, tangled webs, and the Twisted Kingdom.

In Athos and the surrounding countryside, Teyla was well-known, but she had encountered distrust when she went further out to other villages - why should a Territory Queen's court be any different?

Ultimately, a Black Widow practised her Craft according to the needs of the Blood who came to her, not according to public comfort with her skills.

That was how the Hourglass Coven taught their members.

That was how it had always been among the Blood.

Time and familiarity might warm Prince Sumner to her; in the meantime, Teyla would not allow herself to be disconcerted by his wariness. She was not the threat he imagined, nor yet the trouble he thought her.

"I think I can introduce myself," said the last male easily, tossing unruly black hair back from his eyes before presenting his hands to Teyla with confident intensity. "John Sheppard."

Another Warlord Prince - did Atlantis breed them? Yet not just any Warlord Prince but the dominant male of the group. Teyla saw that even as she lifted her gaze from the proffered greeting to the hazel eyes that regarded her with a disconcerting intensity

The Lady Elizabeth Weir might not yet have set up a formal court, but it was instantly obvious to Teyla that the three younger males served her, whatever other allegiances they presently answered to. It might even be the beginnings of a Blood Triangle, Teyla thought as she lifted her hands in response to the greeting.

Palm touched palm.

If Prince Sumner's skin had been cool against Teyla's, Prince Sheppard's touch burned like fire, an unexpected conflagration. Teyla held herself carefully still, aware that here was a male who exemplified his caste: arrantly male, exquisitely confident, and with the undercurrent of passion and violence that was so much a part of every Warlord Prince. It roused something within her, an inner rebellion that rose to his challenge, and as their hands touched, she pressed upwards, a subtle reminder that a dark-Jewelled Black Widow was not to be lightly dismissed - even by a dark-Jewelled Warlord Prince.

As he had challenged, so she would answer.

It was a risky move; one that might yet backfire against her if he thought her challenge a threat to himself or his Queen.

Yet something sparked in his gaze as her fingernails grazed his wrist. The shade of his eyes was suddenly more green than hazel, and a sharp awareness grew on his expression. Teyla felt the psychic currents around them shift, and caught her breath. Something had changed and she didn’t know what.

To cover her discomfort, she smiled lightly. "A pleasure to meet you, Prince Sheppard."

But as he smiled, she felt foreboding trace a chill finger down his spine, even if his answer was easy. "The pleasure's all mine, Lady."

\--

Until she found herself walking through the sunlit gardens of the Lady's estate on her way to Atlantis court, Teyla had never truly appreciated the difference between a Prince or Warlord, and a Warlord Prince.

Like all the Blood, she had been taught the formalities, the niceties of interaction with Queens and Warlord Princes - the two most powerful castes of the Blood. However, until her father's death, her exposure had been limited to the visit of the District Queen and two Warlord Princes attendant in her retinue - one with Opal Jewels, the other with Summer-Sky.

Strange how much difference a few ranks could make.

Prince Sheppard had offered her his arm, a courtesy she would have refused but for the fact that Lady Weir had already accepted Prince Sumner's arm.

When she’d lifted her eyes to his, there'd been a challenging gleam in his gaze, and once again Teyla had felt that subtle spark of rebellion rise within her. Taking his arm had merely been meeting that challenge, so she told herself.

Teyla kept her touch light on the top of his hand, and tried not to notice the lean, male body that walked beside her, or the hard hazel gaze she could feel studying her, as though uncertain what to make of the witch he escorted through the gardens.

The truth remained: she wasn’t sure what to make of him either.

Their party had reduced - Lord Sharam had hurried off as soon as was polite. Then Prince Beckett had excused himself with a brief smile and a briefer apology. Teyla silently wondered why they'd been present at all; her conclusion was that they'd been here provide gossip for the court.

Certainly, a young Queen, her father, and two Warlord Princes was more than sufficient greeting party for Teyla and her escort - at least, by Athos' undemanding standards.

But then, Athos village was not Atlantis court.

"I was sorry to hear that Lady Charin couldn't make it to court this year," Lord Weir was saying, addressing her with the calm courtesy that Teyla was beginning to suspect was an intrinsic part of his nature. "I know Lady Melia was hoping to see her again, and I have always enjoyed her visits."

"Lady Charin was also disappointed. However, she was struck with the winterlung this past season and is not yet fully recovered."

The reminder of Charin's mortality had been stark - that all things had a time and a season and her mentor was deep in the winter of her life. At seventy winters, said Charin, one was happy to have lived and loved and served to the best of her abilities. _Life is for those who still have time to live it, Teyla. Like you._

"It was a difficult winter up in these parts as well," Lady Weir said. "Although not so bad as in the south. I know that several of our Healers went down to offer their help in the southern provinces."

"We heard of them, although none came to Athos."

"We had sufficient resources in our own Healers, and in Charin and Teyla." Toran spoke up for the first time. "Athos is blessed in our witches."

"Lady Charin is a Healer as well, then?" Prince Sheppard asked.

"It is not uncommon for the Hourglass to also assist in healing brews if the Healers are overworked."

"So you know healing brews and poultices, too?"

He seemed surprised, his expression querying. Beneath the dark slash of his brows, slightly lifted, his eyes were the colour of the shaded forest - cool shelter in the summer's heat. In spite of the fine weave of his shirt and the embroidered cut of his jacket, he looked less like an aristo Warlord Prince and more like the boys Teyla had grown up among in the village - a charming and playful companion, for all that the intensity of his gaze was unlike any she'd felt on her in Athos.

Lady Weir laughed, drawing Teyla's gaze away. "The Hourglass is taught a lot more than just tangled webs, John."

His look of inquiry faded then, settling into a pointed frown. "I've never known what the Hourglass is taught."

"Not many do," said Lord Weir quietly. "The Hourglass coven keep their secrets. Given their work and their skills, it's best that way."

"Yet secrecy breeds distrust," murmured Prince Sumner softly.

Currents shifted like stances in a fight.

"And you've never been one to either keep secrets or be distrustful?" There was an amused edge to Prince Sheppard's voice, and beneath her fingertips, lean muscle had tensed.

"I trust those who prove themselves trustworthy." The ice-blue glance should have frozen Prince Sheppard to the core, but the younger male weathered it, a ghost of a smile hovering about his lips as he strode along. Teyla caught the edge of that smile, caught the intensity of the eyes that gleamed with mischief, and looked away before her cheeks could blush.

"And I haven't?"

"You've always been a troublemaker," Prince Sumner said, his voice cold.

"And you've never liked me," said Prince Sheppard, just as pointed, although considerably more amused.

Prince Sumner's eyes flashed, and for a moment Teyla wondered if he would let loose the anger she could feel bubbling beneath the veneer of courtesy. The fact that he might do so in front of guests - strangers - was discomforting.

"I think," said the Lady with crisp deliberation, "this conversation is one to keep for later. Marshall, John."

Her intercession cut through the tension like a blade. Teyla noted how both men looked to her and nodded in unison. Whatever their differences with each other, they served the same Queen and her word carried the weight of law to them.

She wondered if it had yet been acknowledged as such.

*Not a duo I would care to challenge,* said Toran dryly.

*Nor I,* Teyla admitted. There were interplaying undercurrents of dominance at hand - a dance between two males who were loyal, intense, and passionate - and dangerous for those same traits. Warlord Princes were a breed unto themselves among the Blood, and only a Queen could rein in their ferocity.

Briefly, she slid a glance towards Prince Sheppard and wondered what it might be like to have that intensity directed at her.

As though he had heard her thought, the Prince turned his head and met her gaze.

Teyla felt herself tense with an instinct that not all her control or training could allay.

In Athos, those who went out hunting for wild game said that the hunted recognised the hunter. Here, beneath that gleaming look, Teyla recognised the hunter in Prince Sheppard.

In that look, also, she saw his face cold with rage as he fought multiple enemies beneath a leafy canopy. She saw his features harsh and bitter as he slid his blade cleanly into the chest of an older man whose eyes reflected his hatred, then him leaning against a wall outside a closed door with his arms wrapped around his body and his head downturned in agony. She saw him standing on a featureless plain beneath a screaming sky with the madness of the Twisted Kingdom crushing his colours. She saw her own hands holding a Sapphire-tinted crystal chalice between them, before it shattered in her fingers, casting razor shards to slice bloody patterns across her skin.

Teyla didn't realise she'd flinched until his hands were on her bare arms, gentle yet unfamiliar - a strange male's hands on her skin...

Panic was instinctive and devastating. Teyla thrust him away, twisting out from his grip with a gasp. A moment later, Toran was at her side, not touching, but hovering - close enough to reassure, not so close as to crowd. "Teyla?"

Beyond him, Prince Sheppard stood, watching her with a gaze that suddenly seemed as veiled and neutral as it had been open and hungry before. "Lady?"

Past him, Lady Weir and her party were watching, their expressions variously curious, concerned, and scornful.

*Teyla?*

Teyla swallowed hard and summoned a smile, even as she touched Toran with a psychic reassurance. "Forgive me. A...a moment's disorientation from the long journey."

It was not wholly a lie. Still, if any of the males challenged it...

"It was a long journey to get here," Lady Weir said after the most momentary of hesitations. "I'm sorry for keeping you out in the sun - it's easy to forget that the weather's much warmer here than it is in the south. John, offer Lady Emmagan your arm again and let's get inside."

Obedient to his Queen - surely a rarity - Prince Sheppard offered Teyla his arm. “Lady.”

His wariness was clear enough, and Teyla hesitated, regretting her earlier reaction. As she paused, Toran stepped into the silence. "I can escort the lady perfectly well, thank you."

The dismissal was clear - and flagrantly unwise. Teyla felt the flaring stab of temper from a Warlord Prince, and touched Toran's shoulder. "It's all right, Toran, I'll take Prince Sheppard's escort."

And she carefully laid her hand and forearm over Prince Sheppard's, reinforcing her psychic shielding against him as she did so.

Visions came naturally to a Black Widow; yet until now, she had always been in control of the visions when they came - either in a trance, or while weaving a Tangled Web through which the future might be seen. Why had she reacted to Prince Sheppard?

"You'll want to take it easy the first few days in Atlantis, Lady Emmagan." Prince Weir continued the conversation as though Teyla's excuse and the Lady Weir's continuance of it had been truth and not a polite fiction. "At your own discretion and that of Lady Melia, of course. But the warmer weather can be a drain on those unaccustomed to the heat."

*Hear that?* Toran inquired, not a little maliciously. *Take it easy.*

*And if the Queen requires my services?* Teyla retorted on as private a psychic thread as she could make in a group of Blood whose Jewels were all darker than Toran's. *I am fine.*

*You weren't. He threatened you.*

*He did not threaten me,* Teyla said sharply. *His touch was just...unexpected.*

For that one moment when Prince Sheppard had looked her way, heat had snapped through her, like the sun through the curve-glasses, intensified through that contact and her surprise at her visions. She had reacted to the abrupt proximity of a male as her instincts dictated.

*I don't trust him.*

*He doesn't trust you, either,* Teyla observed dryly. *Now, hush.*

"I remember being in the south last summer, when Lady Melia took her tour of the Territory," Lady Weir was saying. "It was a lovely area, although we never got to see Athos. I think Lady Melia had planned to visit Lady Charin, but there wasn't time in the end."

"Yes. We were disappointed when we heard. Athos has never had a Territory Queen visit it - at least, not in living memory. It would have been a great excitement."

The words were no sooner out of her mouth when Teyla wished them unsaid, especially when Prince Sumner drawled, "I don't imagine you get much excitement in a village in the summer. Planting and hoeing isn't it?"

"With the occasional interlude of traders and celebrations," Teyla answered, and knew that frosty pique tinged her voice at Prince Sumner's gibe. "There are several other villages in the area, and there is a steady stream of people moving from town to town to visit and socialise."

"I wouldn't have thought it safe - not so close to the Wraith border."

"The southern provinces have generations of solid experience at defending against the Wraith that cross the mountains." Prince Weir lifted his voice with calm authority, and Teyla heard the warning - as, doubtless, Prince Sumner would, too.

"We have had our troubles with the Wraith," Teyla admitted, soothing Toran's flash of temper with a calm psychic touch. She would handle this. "But it is as Prince Weir says. We do not put our lives on hold for fear, or else we'd never live."

"Well said." Prince Sheppard's murmur was pitched low, and it made her flush a little.

"Well, if there's a tour later this summer, Athos will be on my list of towns to see," said Lady Weir. "Especially now that you've come to Atlantis court."

They'd reached the edge of the gardens, and the driveway of the estate. Ahead of them, the path curved around a circular carriageway, in the centre of which was a magnificent stone fountain carved in pale grey marble. The wet faces of the angular spires gleamed like precious metal and fine glass in the sunlight, and the bowl of the fountain was tiled in a rich blue like the sea, contrasting vividly with the red brick and the pale marble façade of the house.

"Lady Melia wished to meet with you as soon as you arrived," said Lady Weir as they made their way up the driveway, gravel crunching beneath their feet. "Unless you wished to be shown your quarters first?"

Teyla hesitated only a moment. She suspected it was an invitation to make herself presentable, however she saw little reason to do so.

Perhaps she was not an aristo witch in a Queen's court, but she was a Black Widow who had been called upon by the Territory Queen. Those credentials required no preening.

In addition to which, the subtle psychic currents she sensed around her suggested it would be best to know why she had been summoned as soon as possible.

" _Trust your instincts, Teyla_ ," Charin had told her last night. " _They are Blood, just the same as we are. Their clothing may be finer and their houses fancier, but they follow the same Laws and Protocols that govern our lives._ "

"I'm happy to have the wishes of Lady Melia take precedence," she told Lady Weir.

But beneath her cover of calm, discomfort lurked.

\--

As the Queen of Atlantis Territory rose from her sitting room couch to greet her guest, Teyla felt the first stirrings of understanding.

As Lady Melia held out her hands in courteous greeting, Teyla lifted her hands to answer it.

When their hands touched, Teyla looked up into dark eyes marked with lines of age and humour, and knew the truth - knew that the Lady knew she knew.

Lady Melia’s hair was streaked with grey, the bones of her face strong and spare - too spare for beauty, but it wasn’t her looks that held Atlantis Territory secure, but her spirit, Jewel power, and warm, feminine strength. A mature strength, gentle, yet not without its scars. Truly, a Queen to respect and to serve with pleasure.

"Welcome to Atlantis, Lady Emmagan. I'm glad you could come."

"And I am glad to be of service, Lady Melia. Charin sends her deepest apologies for not being able to come as you requested.”

“If she had come, I’d have been furious at her for straining herself,” said Lady Melia with frank ease. “And she has sent me her pupil, which I consider a compliment.”

“You are kind, my Lady.”

“I know my friend. Charin is skilled in her Craft, and she would not have suffered herself to take on an inferior witch as pupil.” Lady Melia smiled, before glancing beyond, to Toran. “And your escort?”

“This is Toran Arungen, a long-time friend of both Charin's family and mine.”

Toran bowed - not courtly, perhaps, but neat. "At your service, Lady."

The Lady smiled at his words. “A pleasure to meet you, Toran. I believe Lady Charin has mentioned you, although...perhaps Toran is a common name in Athos, since from her converation, I had thought you to be older?"

A flush touched Toran's cheek, rising up to his brow beneath the dark mess of his curls. "That was... That was most likely Lady Teyla's father, madam. I...I was named for him, and Teyla and I grew up together."

Someone else in the room tittered, then turned it into a cough.

Lady Melia's eyes narrowed as she turned her head a little to the side, but her voice was warm as she said, "A trusted male is one of the most valuable allies a witch may have. Both Lady Teyla and Lady Charin are fortunate in you."

He bowed again, and although his expression betrayed only politeness, Teyla could tell he was both embarrassed and pleased by the subtle praise in the Queen's words.

She did not look around to see the effect of the Lady's chiding; the internal politics of this court did not concern her. She had been brought here to attend to the Queen; the rest was unimportant. Yet undercurrents twined through the room, fragile as raw spidersilk, dangerous as a Tangled Web woven of ill-intent.

"You have travelled far this morning. Perhaps you will take some refreshment with me and a few members of my First Circle in one of the tea-rooms?"

Teyla recognised when an invitation was not an invitation but a command; still, she was wary as Lady Melia picked out three males and one witch to attend her then turned to the party who had come to greet Teyla.

Attrition had once again whittled down their numbers upon entering the house. Prince Sumner had murmured a barely-civil excuse and diverged as they entered the house. Teyla had expected Prince Sheppard to do much the same.

He had not. Instead, he'd escorted her all the way into Lady Melia's sitting room and was still waiting by the door, oddly subdued for what Teyla understood of Warlord Princes.

As though feeling her eyes upon him, Sheppard turned his head and looked directly at her.

Teyla looked away as Lady Melia invited Lady Weir and her father to join them, but couldn't quite keep her gaze from flickering back. This time he was watching her - had been _waiting_ for her to look back, Teyla realised, for his mouth quirked in a brief smile before he bowed and left.

“John will be at dinner later.” Beside her, Lady Weir was smiling. “If you like, I could ask him to escort you."

"I... That will not be necessary. Toran is sufficient escort."

"I'm sure he is." The young Queen had a smile of surprising mischief when she chose it. "But you'll still need someone to show you where the dining room is. I'll send Kate along, too, for Toran to Escort. She's a Healer - I think you'll like her."

"Lady Emmagan? Elizabeth?"

She walked past Prince Sheppard without looking at him, carefully self-contained.

It was a small group that assembled in the tea room, offered coffee and refreshments, water and even wine. A little small talk, and a handful of polite questions passed before Lady Melia put her cup aside and faced Teyla from her chaise.

"Charin and I have known each other many years, since we were both girls living down in the midlands. Over the years, she has spun vision-webs and dream-webs at my request, advised me on matters down in the southern parts of the Territory, and been someone upon whom I can rely to speak the truth when others do not."

Teyla settled her cup back in her saucer, glad of the strong flavour of the tea across her tongue, to give her fortitude for what she could sense was coming. "You require a vision-web of me, Lady?"

"One that will show me how lies Atlantis Territory's future." Lady Melia folded her hands in her lap. "You live in the south, you know of Atlantis Territory's argument with the Wraith. They've grown bold in the last generation - our best efforts haven't kept them at bay for long. We've no quarrel with the rule of their Queens - only that their hunger for the lands beyond their borders is endless and that the Blood in Atlantis Territory - and the other Territories around us - pay in lives both landen and Blood because we won't give in to them."

"You wish to know the best path down which to take Atlantis?"

"Whatever will show me the possibilities of our future." Lady Melia tilted her head a little. "You can do that?"

"I can."

She didn't hide her hesitation; saw not only the Lady mark it, but also the others in the room, standing or seated, listening to this conversation between one of the longest-ruling Queens of Atlantis Territory, and a Black Widow witch who hadn't yet reached her adult majority.

"You are a Black Widow; it is your training, is it not?"

"It is." It was not that which was giving Teyla pause. She could feel the undercurrents of Lady Melia's request hanging between them. Perhaps it was the echoes she gained from the Lady's Green Jewel of rank - the same as Teyla's Birthright Jewel; perhaps it was the shape of the future she was sensing in the psychic currents of the room.

Either way, what Lady Melia desired went further than a mere vision-web.

Yet the lady had spoken in veiled hints and subtle emphases rather than stating her wishes outright. Once again, Teyla felt the psychic undercurrents flowing through the room and heard what was not being said.

"As Charin did for you, so must I do." She looked the Lady in the eye, the weight of her conscience permitting her no evasion. "I can guide you into the Twisted Kingdom if that’s your wish, my lady, but your First Circle may have objections to your going."

Lady Melia sighed a little, even as those in the room reacted to Teyla's words.

"What?!"

"The Lady didn't ask to go into the Twisted Kingdom!"

"A dream-web shouldn't require--!"

"Melia, is this what you've been planning?"

The queen lifted both hands, and silence fell.

Then one of the three males spoke up - an Opal-Jewelled Prince whose silvered hair curled shaggy over his brow. "We have the right to object, Melia."

"The right to object, Hodar," she agreed, her gaze leaving Teyla's for only a moment. "Not the right to override. Hear this out, and then protest." Her mouth quirked in a smile as she regarded Teyla again. "Charin would have done the same, you know."

"Yes. Lady Melia--"

"I need to see it for myself. I know the dangers of the Twisted Kingdom, Teyla. I have been Charin’s friend for many years now. I also know what may be gained by walking it to see the future. This is my journey to undertake, and I hoped to do it guided by a Widow I knew. In the absence of Charin, I choose to trust you, Teyla Emmagan of Athos."

"It is not an easy journey, Lady."

A Red-Jewelled Warlord frowned, hawklike eyes beneath a heavy brow. "Are you so uncertain of your skill, then?"

“I trust in my competence as trained by the Hourglass.” She met the Warlord’s fierce demand with understanding. He had a Queen he was sworn to protect. “I have been into the Twisted Kingdom many times to see the future; as yet, I have never been called upon to take someone else with me.”

A Warlord Prince of middle years eyed her warily. “How old are you, Lady Emmagan? Have you yet reached your majority?”

“I reach my majority next year.”

“That is young for such responsibility - and for travelling in the Twisted Kingdom. Do you truly expect us to trust you with our Queen when you are not yet adult? Lady Charin was older and experienced; how long have you trained with the Hourglass?”

Teyla lifted the thin gold chain that hung around her neck, displaying the tiny hourglass with its golden sand sealed in the bottom half of the hourglass. The symbol of a fully-trained Black Widow. “Long enough to know all a Widow’s weavings, my lords, to be experienced in them. And I do not expect you to trust me. It is not I asking trust of you, but Lady Melia.”

She glanced at the Lady, somewhat nervous. This was plain speaking for a mere chit - she could see it in the twist of their mouths, could hear it in their voices - a village witch telling them of the trust between a Queen and her males.

Her instincts told her to speak now rather than hold her tongue; to be forthright rather than tactful.

“Your Queen expects me to guide her through the Twisted Kingdom.” She kept her voice even and calm. They were males protective of a Queen; they had every right and responsibility to be wary. They simply did not have a reason. “Your trust in my skills, while valued, is unnecessary. It is hers that counts.”

A Queen could override her court if she wished. Her males could stand against her, but the final choice came down to the Queen. That was the Law and the Protocols of the Blood, as they had been for thousands of years. A balance, with each gender taking the lead, switching rights and responsibilities as in a complex dance of power and submission.

Teyla looked around the room, gauging the reactions to her words. The males did not like it and the Healer seemed uncertain. But Lady Melia nodded approvingly, and a smile flickered about her lips, although her words, when they came, were sober.

“I need to know what lies ahead for Atlantis. The Wraith press us hard, and there are signs... We need a way out of this confusion. Lady Charin has spun vision-webs to the limits of her skills, and still no way is clear. If walking in the Twisted Kingdom will show me that way out, then I think the risk is worth it.”

“We’re holding the Wraith at bay!”

“Up here in Atlantis, perhaps, but at what cost to the border towns and villages in the South?” Lady Melia shook her head at the Warlord. “It’s not enough.”

“That’s the price paid for living at the fringes of the Territory! Lady, you cannot expect--”

“What I expect, Prince, is to be responsible for all the lives that are in my care, and not just those I see every day.”

“And what do you expect of us, Melia?” The shaggy-haired Prince spoke gently. “We are your Triangle.”

“And, as Blood Triangle, I require your thoughts and counsel on this. In the meantime, Lady Emmagan and her escort will be here as my guests for the next four days. Lady Emmagan may be amenable to inquiries after her work.” Melia looked at Teyla who nodded, not without some misgivings.

“I will not reveal all the secrets of the Hourglass coven,” she stated clearly. “But in so far as I may, I will try to set your minds at ease regarding Lady Melia’s wishes. _After_ the lady has made her needs clear.”

If Teyla was going to endure the suspicion and doubt of these males, it would be for what she was going to do, not for what she might be called upon to do.

The flicker of a smile at Lady Melia’s mouth suggested that Teyla had been right to stand her ground. “Lady Emmagan, I think tomorrow morning after breakfast will be soon enough to discuss the reason for your summons. This afternoon and this evening should be your opportunity to settle into the court - Lady Elizabeth has offered to act as your companion and introduction in the court, and we both hope you will find yourself welcomed.”

It was definitely a dismissal, and Teyla took it, not without a little relief. As the door closed, she could see the males gearing for an argument, the Healer considering what to say.

“You did very well in there,” said Lady Weir as the door closed behind them and she started off down the quiet hallway.

It didn’t feel that way to Teyla, but she didn’t say as much. While Lady Weir seemed nice enough, Teyla did not know her and wasn’t yet comfortable with confiding in her this way. Maybe she would speak about it with Toran later. “A Blood Triangle is expected to be protective of their Queen. Their intensity was not surprising.”

“No, but most people don’t take it quite so well as you did, Lady Emmagan.”

“Please. Call me Teyla.”

“Only if you call me Elizabeth.”

“Very well, Elizabeth. thank you for being willing to accompany me - us - while we are here. You must have other things to do...”

“Nothing that can’t be done later,” said Lady Elizabeth with a confiding grin. “And it’s a pleasure. I’ve known so many of the people in Atlantis court all my life, new people are a welcome addition. And, well, I'm curious about the Hourglass coven. My mother wanted me to go to the Hourglass, but she died before it could be arranged. Then my father didn't want me to go, and Lady Melia needed me in her court... What with one thing and another, I never learned the Widow's Craft."

That explained the Weirs’ knowledge of the Hourglass.

Elizabeth seemed diffident about never having learned from the Hourglass coven, but Teyla felt what was unsaid beneath the young Queen's words - that her mother had been a natural Black Widow, and Elizabeth saw the Hourglass as a link back to her mother. And that Elizabeth's presence at Lady Melia's court and in the Lady's First Circle meant more than merely having a powerful young Queen to hand.

Sometimes, rather than leaving strong Province Queens to squabble among themselves, Territory Queens would appoint successors to follow them in order to ensure a smooth transition of power.

Sometimes, in spite of that appointment, a Territory could find itself in the midst of a political struggle for power.

Was that the reason for the troubling undercurrents Teyla felt in Atlantis? The discomforting conflicts of a court in which a new Queen struggled with her succession?

Suddenly, her place here in Atlantis court seemed all the more fraught.

"But that’s enough about me,” said Lady Elizabeth unaware of the conflicts within Teyla. “Did you want to see your rooms, or would you like to walk around the court for a while?”

Teyla glanced at Toran, who had been keeping pace with them down the corridor, although he was a little behind as befitted an escort male. He shrugged. *It’s not me that they’ll be staring at.*

In truth, she would rather have gone to her rooms and taken a little quiet time for herself. Called in a book she’d brought with her, retreated to somewhere she could relax without feeling on display. And, given there seemed to be no other Black Widows in Atlantis court, she would be on display.

Better to face trouble full-on, she decided. So she turned to Lady Elizabeth with a smile on her face. “I believe I should like to see the court.”

It would also provide her with an opportunity to observe the politics of the court in action, something that she feared would become necessary before too long.

For the last couple of generations, Athos village had traded off Charin’s friendship with Lady Melia.

As Lady Elizabeth led them through the halls of the estate house, making conversation, Teyla answered her questions about village life and the people Teyla knew, and wondered if the young Queen understood the truth of the matter. If she knew why Lady Melia had asked for a Black Widow to walk her through the Twisted Kingdom.

She wondered if Lady Elizabeth Weir knew her Queen was dying.

\--

Standing outside the guest rooms, John smoothed down his dinner jacket and told himself he’d done this many times before.

It wasn’t unusual for males of the court to be assigned to look after female guests who hadn’t come with their escorts, or who wanted for male companionship. As a result, John was experienced in making young witches comfortable under the watchful eyes of their mothers, aunts, or mentors, and being a charming and entertaining companion for the evening.

It _was_ unusual for him to be as aware of a female guest the way he was of Teyla Emmagan.

His first thought upon meeting her had been that she was too young to be a fully trained Black Widow.

His second had been that he would keep a careful eye upon this woman, village witch or not.

There was something about her, like the gleam of a knife blade under a bright sky. Not a threat, because John would have sensed that immediately, but....something else.

Surreptitiously, he rubbed the palms of his hands against his trousers and knocked on the guest quarters, hard and sharp. Authoritative. She was the Queen’s guest, he was her escort for the night. It was simple.

A psychic touch brushed over him, a delicate querying sweep like a fingertip down his arm. *Come in, Prince. It’s unlocked.*

For a moment, John wondered if he was about to walk in on a seduction scene. It wouldn’t be the first time a female guest had tried to seduce him.

It wouldn’t be the first time a female guest had succeeded.

Still, he was more than a little wary when he opened the door and stepped inside.

The guest rooms in Lady Melia's estate were just that - a single room with an adjoining bathroom, although the room contained both a sleeping space and a sitting space, separated by an embroidered screen. Nice enough, John supposed, although they might be considered luxurious to a village witch.

He looked around now, at the scarlet-and-gold upholstered sofas in the sitting area with its low table. A shawl, comfortably worn, had been draped over the chaise, and a cloth-bound book rested on the arm, its tasselled marker dangling. A small pharmacopeia was laid out on the workbench by the window, herbs and powders sitting there with a mortar and pestle and several books open at various pages.

Probably not so surprising for a Black Widow.

Except there was no sign of the Widow herself.

John listened for any sounds from the sleeping space beyond the embroidered screen, from the bathroom.

Nothing.

As far as John could sense, Lady Emmagan wasn’t in the room.

*Hello?*

There was a shadow by the balcony door. A moment later, Lady Emmagan stepped through. Literally. _Through_ the door.

John stared.

All the Blood were taught to pass through solid objects. It was basic Craft. John could pass through that door himself - with a lot of concentration and the distinct feeling of having bruised himself while at warrior training.

Lady Teyla Emmagan had stepped through the glass as though it was nothing more than air.

“Prince Sheppard. I’m sorry. I was distracted by the gardens and...” She paused as she took in his silence and her expression grew subtly reserved. “Is the gown suitable? Lady Elizabeth gave the impression that we were to dress for dinner...”

She was clad in a clinging dress of black spidersilk, her arms bare to the elbow but for a silver bracelet, her throat and shoulders bare but for the Green Jewel that hung from what looked like a choker of fine gold filigree, and the little golden hourglass of her Craft that slid down into the cleft between her breasts.

She looked nothing like a village witch. Or what John thought a village witch should look like.

He wondered if she took the little hourglass off when she had sex, and dragged his mind back from the sudden thought of stroking his tongue down the line of that long chain, into the hollow of her belly, and down between her thighs while her hands clutched his nape and her voice urged him on.

 _Mother Night._

John caught himself, closed his mouth, and swallowed to moisten his tongue again.

“No, what you’re wearing is fine. Very nice.”

 _Very nice?_ Of all the inane phrases he could possibly have used...

“You know,” he said, stepping into the momentary silence, "We're not in any rush. Would you like to go back out into the gardens? They stretch the length of the wing."

"They do?" Her expression brightened for a moment before she paused. "Would we not be late for dinner?"

"Oh, there's a bit of social time before dinner's served." John used a touch of Craft to unlatch the door behind her and open it. “There’s no rush. We’d only be early.”

“It is fashionable to be late?”

“No, but it’s uncomfortable to be the first people there.” He paused by her, lifting one arm to indicate she should precede him and wondering why she suddenly seemed tense. “Lady.”

She stepped past him without touching, neat and trim and almost fastidious as she walked out onto the balcony and down the stairs to the lush gardens below. John trailed in the scent of her wake and rethought himself.

Earlier today, she’d pushed up against his hands, the edges of her nails grazing his wrists. He’d felt his temper rise then - not an unexpected reaction to a dangerous witch around his Queen, even if it wasn’t Sumner’s immediate suspicion. Still, John had thought it just wariness, even when she flinched away from him without reason. He’d grabbed her shoulders, afraid she was going to collapse, and she’d shoved him away with more strength than a witch her size should have, fear and Craft adding force to her panic.

John hadn’t really thought about his reactions then - too busy trying to take her measure.

Now he wondered if he hadn’t misread himself - and her - entirely.

His interest was piqued.

And tension coiled in his shoulders. How long had it been since he’d reacted to a witch like this? Not since Nancy. And that hadn’t turned out so well, had it?

She’d relaxed out here in the gardens, he saw. An affinity for the land in the way that some witches and males had - the way Elizabeth did. Then again, Elizabeth was a Queen - let her anywhere near a garden and she’d be on her knees in the dirt, running her fingers over every green thing in sight.

Lady Emmagan didn’t get down on her knees, just trailed along the edge of the fenced space, silent and meditative beneath the twilight sky.

John parked himself on the wooden bench by the little pond, and watched her silently as she paused here and there to smell a flower or rub a leaf between her fingers, or pluck something and vanish it into her private space.

"Do you have gardens like this in Athos?"

Her start suggested he'd been entirely forgotten. John wasn't sure whether to be pleased that she'd relaxed enough to forget he was there, or annoyed that she'd relegated him to background.

“No. Our gardens are...not like this."

"But you've got your own garden, right? I mean...a Black Widow would need..." But here John trailed off. He had no idea what a Black Widow might need for her spells, or how it might differ from what any other witch or Blood male might have in their collection of spell pharmacopeia.

She pinched off the new green tip of a bush branch, sniffed it and vanished it. "Simples, mostly. Some fruit and vegetables." Her glance took in his surprised look, and laughter rippled out through the garden, warm as a caress. "A Black Widow must eat, too, Prince! There are pleasure gardens in Athos, of course, but they are nothing like this..."

Her wave of the hand encompassed the willow that arched over lush grass rolling down to a neat-edged pond, where waving reeds dipped and swayed in the evening breeze, a moving counterpoint to the bright clusters of flowers that grew in the beds up against the lattices marking the boundary of the garden space.

The garden was pretty, John thought, but not that much. It was the woman standing in the midst of it all who intrigued him.

He couldn’t say _that_ , of course.

“How are they different? I don’t know very much about village life,” he explained when she glanced up at him. Keep her talking. Work out what she was angling at - if she was angling. He didn’t think so, but the conversation would give him a chance to assess.

Her mouth twitched up in a soft curve. “Village life is...village life. We eat and sleep, grow our crops, bring up our children, dream of things beyond our horizons, and dance for the glory of Witch. I do not think it is different to what you do here in the court.”

“I don’t live here in court,” John said. “My family has a house in town, and I live there a lot of the time, except when Elizabeth needs me.”

“You serve her.”

“Yes.”

“Have you known Lady Elizabeth long?”

“All my life. Her family owned estates near mine and we just grew up together.”

John knew there were Warlord Princes who didn’t find the Queen they were to serve until they were adults. He couldn’t imagine not knowing. He’d known he’d serve Elizabeth since he came out of his Birthright Ceremony with an Opal Jewel. Probably even before, when they were children, playing in the gardens of the Weir estate.

“You don’t have Blood in your village that you just grew up with?”

“Of course, I do. Halling, Kanaan, Hariya, Misa... Toran and I grew up together. His mother’s house was just across the way from mine.”

So she and her escort were close. “Good friends?”

“Yes. Although there is no Queen living in my village.”

“Just two Black Widows.”

“Yes. Although there are many villages in our Province without a Black Widow to attend them. Sometimes....sometimes Lady Charin and I travel out to see the people in them.” She ran her fingers down one of the whipcord leaves of the willow tree. “There is not as much call for a Black Widow’s services as a Healer’s, but there is enough.”

“And helping the Healers.”

“When they ask it of us.”

“You know, you should talk to Kate Heightmeyer - she’s a Healer - at dinner tonight. I think that your friend is escorting her.”

“Yes, he came by earlier to let me know.”

And would probably shadow her all night. John doubted the man was going to let Lady Emmagan out of his sight for more than few moments during this visit. He had seemed very protective of her this afternoon - particularly after her...faint, or whatever it had been.

Which was going to be a problem if John was going to get to know this witch better.

Attraction was one thing - easy and simple. A long slow ride between the sheets was something John could give without question or thought. He was a Warlord Prince, his sexuality was part of his nature. Still, he couldn’t quite forget the way his instincts had honed as she pushed back in greeting. That was something other than attraction, although what, he didn’t know.

He wanted to find out why he was reacting to her like this, and the only way he was going to do that was by getting to know her.

Tonight would be a start, but she was here for several days at least. He vaguely remembered Elizabeth saying something about that.

“Did you have any time during this visit to go around town, or will your time be taken up with Lady Melia?”

“I do not know.” She was trailing her fingers along the fur-tipped buds of the catwillows, thoughtfully. “I believe Lady Melia will call for me when she needs me. She said that Lady Elizabeth would be companionship; although I imagine the Lady has duties of her own to see to.”

“Well, if she’s busy and you’d like to go into town, let me know and I’ll escort you. In a city like Atlantis, there’s certain to be something that takes your fancy. What?”

She was staring at him with an expression that looked a lot like disbelief. “Do you not have duties of your own to see to?”

“Not many. I’m only seventh circle in Lady Melia’s court,” he explained. “So I don’t have any pressing duties. Most of my time is my own.”

“A man of leisure.”

Was that a note of disdain in her voice? John met her gaze, and held it, challenging whatever assumptions she’d developed about him. “Yes.”

She watched him for a moment, as though measuring him by some standard he couldn’t see. He tensed under that gaze, awareness rising, sharp as a blade. After a moment, she turned away.

“Then I would be glad to accept your escort, Prince Sheppard.”

“Good.”

John spoke with rather more force than he’d intended, relief mixing with a subtle frustration that unfurled within his limbs. He felt the psychic currents in the air between them shift as though she’d stepped back, leaving a space between them, although she didn’t move as he stood.

Ignoring the way she watched him with reserved dark eyes, John offered her his left arm in escort. “I think we might be ready to go into dinner.”

And when she placed her hand delicately over the top of his fist, his senses quivered, sharp as a knife in his gut.

\--

Dinner was a small affair - at least, small by court standards.

Elizabeth had requested a smaller, private dinner with a dozen or so others as well as the Athosians, and while it seemed small to John after the mayhem of the main dining hall when Lady Melia's court was in, he could only imagine what the Athosians thought.

Lady Teyla didn't seem fazed as they entered the dining room, but Kate murmured to John that her escort had paused at the door before they walked into the dining hall and to keep an eye on Teyla in case she found all these people overwhelming.

As far as John could tell through the dinner, she was handling the attention from the court fine, even if her escort was clearly discomforted by the aristos he was among.

"He looks like he'd cut and run as soon as stay," Carson noted quietly.

They'd retired to a sitting room, some members joining them, some retiring for the night. Toran of Athos had looked like he would have liked to retire, but Lady Teyla had indicated her intention to stay, and so he remained.

John stayed, of course. It was his duty as escort, although he'd have remained even if he hadn't been escorting the lady. He'd have to be up early for training in the morning, but he wasn't tired right now.

And he wanted to watch her in the context of the court.

“He's probably not used to this," John said. "It's not like a village."

"And you, of course, know all about how villages work, Sheppard?" Sumner's tone was faintly mocking as he walked in with two or three other warriors.

"It's common sense." John refused to let Sumner get under his skin. There'd always been a rivalry between them, ever since the first day they'd met years ago, Sumner as a guest of Elizabeth's family, John as Elizabeth's neighbour and escort for that night. The other Warlord Prince was older and more experienced but his Jewels were of lower rank than John's and John had known his Queen longer.

Someday soon, when Elizabeth set up her court, they'd settle the business of who was dominant male. Until then, the jostling made life interesting.

"So that's the Black Widow," remarked one of Sumner's hangers-on, Terrence Markham. "She’s not much to look at, is she?"

Personally John thought Markham needed his eyes examined. There was plenty to look at with Teyla Emmagan - if not in the conventional sense of beauty, then certainly in the unconventional.

And that was just the surface.

Behind him, a Summer-Sky Warlord smirked as he dug his hands into his jacket pockets. “Depends what you’re looking _for_ , Markham. All women look the same in the dark."

John’s temper rose at the insult, and he turned his head to give a sharp retort.

"Watch your tongue, Griffin." Carson said in soft undertones that nevertheless warned of reined-in irritation. "In some courts, you'd get your tongue cut out for that kind of comment."

The stocky Warlord grinned, apparently unbothered by the threat. "This is Atlantis. And it's just fun. Unless it’s serious. You got your eye on that, then, Beckett?"

This time, John’s temper rose faster than he could rein it in.

Griffin didn't wear Jewels dark enough to do more than sense the sudden wave of psychic cold that swept through their corner of the room before John reined his emotions in, but the smile drained from his face.

Sumner and Markham tensed, and over by the bookshelves the conversations paused and heads turned to stare.

“And _t_ _hat_ ," Carson said, his voice quiet and calm, as though none of them had felt the chill anger of a Warlord Prince like a blast of winter wind in the late spring sunlight, "is a fully-trained witch of the Hourglass, who's been called to court by Lady Melia to perform a service. You'd do well to treat her with the respect due her caste, Griffin, at least while she’s a guest in Atlantis. John, if you’d help me with the drinks."

John followed Carson over to the drinks table, taking that moment to calm himself. Carson handed him the first glass he poured - a fiery fortified wine. “Rein it in, John,” he advised quietly. “She’s just a village witch.”

Carson wasn’t usually one to be snide. For that, John held in the hot anger that bubbled up - no longer the cold fury that had lashed out at Griffin’s casual smear against Lady Teyla - but couldn’t quite resist the bite.

“Meaning she’s not important?”

The Prince gave him a sharp look. “Meaning she’s not used to an aristo court, aristo ways. She hides it very well, and it’s a credit to her social skills, but she’s not comfortable here. Not yet.”

“Not yet? You think Lady Melia would call her to serve?”

Carson smiled faintly as he took up the tray of glasses he’d poured. “I think she’s going to learn more about a Queen’s court than she ever expected.”

And with that statement, the Green-Jewelled Prince took the glasses he’d filled across the room and began handing them out, practised as any servant.

John frowned after Carson. _Since when did he start having visions?_

He followed the Green Jewelled Prince over to the group of witches who were gathered around Lady Teyla and Kate Heightmeyer, and who seemed to be discussing herbal remedies local to Kate's village and Athos. A few feet away - not quite in the group, but within earshot, Toran Arungen held up the wall, his arms folded across his chest, clearly unwilling to entertain conversation.

John parked himself lightly on the arm of Kate’s chair with a quick smile for the Healer and a quick apology for coming into the group, as was appropriate - even for a Warlord Prince.

"Drinks, ladies," Carson said, offering the tray to Teyla first, then moving his way around the cluster, before offering one to Toran and taking the last one off the tray himself.

"You must come by my workspace," Kate was saying to Teyla. "If you've the time, of course. And Rodney will be interested, too - he's not here tonight, his sister just got engaged and the family is celebrating. He enjoys developing spells and taking them apart to see how they work. He’s quite good at it."

“So he claims, anyway. You’ll hear all about that from Rodney.”

“John.” Elizabeth turned a frown in his direction and he blinked innocently at her before she turned to Teyla. “He is actually good at working out how to improve spells - what to add to develop new dimensions or aspects. He’s coming in tomorrow, so you should be able to meet him then.”

“You’ll have to be careful, Lady Teyla," said one of the witches sitting across the circle with a bright laugh - Leanna was new to Atlantis court. "You'll end up so busy meeting people and showing them what you do, you won't have time to see Lady Melia."

John blinked, but Teyla’s expression didn’t change.

"Oh, I do not believe that is likely." Teyla replied, her expression smooth and subtle. "Before dinner this evening, Lady Melia’s Steward indicated the times in the next few days during which I am to meet with her. Apart from those times, he indicated that Toran and I are free to do as we will.”

“Then we’ll have to fill your hours,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “I know you mentioned that John’s offered to escort you into the city; would you mind if I joined you? And Kate and Rodney will want to discuss spellmaking with you...”

“Don’t fill up all her hours, Elizabeth,” Carson laughed from the other side of Teyla. “Leave the lady and her escort some time to themselves.”

Elizabeth looked ruefully from Teyla to the Athosian male. “I haven’t even asked if there are any things you particularly wanted to do while you were here.”

“I do not believe Toran and I had any particular plans,” Teyla admitted after a moment. “We came to court to serve Lady Melia, nothing more.”

“Well,” John said, “while you’re here, you might as well make the most of it.”

“And there’s all kinds of entertainments in the city,” said Leanna. “Dances and concerts and shopping. You can’t possibly have the range of things in your village that we do in the city. It would be completely different, but so much fun - if you’ve the money for it, of course.”

“I believe that Toran and I shall contrive if there is need,” Teyla said, her eyes flashing briefly towards the aristo witch before dismissing her to turn to Elizabeth. “We need to purchase some gifts in any case, so a visit to the city will be most welcome.”

John couldn’t quite help the grin that touched his face, and which he wiped before anyone other than Carson, and maybe Elizabeth saw.

*She’s good,* Elizabeth said on a tight Sapphire thread.

*At the social undercurrents?*

*Yes. Leanna’s a bit of a snob, I think.*

*You think?*

*Did she fail to get you into her bed?*

*She might have.*

*So, if Teyla issued an invitation, would you?* Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled, ostensibly at something that Kate had just said about possible places to look for a baby’s teething rattle, but John knew when his Queen was teasing him.

John ignored that question. His life was in Elizabeth’s service, but there were some things a Warlord Prince didn’t share with even his Queen. Although he was coming to the conclusion that the unequivocal answer to that was ‘yes’.

“Do you play chess, Teyla?” He asked when the conversation about shops and shopping flagged.

"I know the game and I play a little," she admitted after a moment's surprise.

John arched his brows. "So are you any good?"

She smiled then, flashing pale teeth between the parted curves of her lips. "Charin says I am a good player, but I always lose to her. My friend Kanaan dislikes playing against me because I beat him so often. And Toran refuses to play with me at all."

“Oh?” Carson turned to regard the Athosian man. “Why, if I might ask?”

"It is like shoving your mind through a sieve," murmured the Athosian from the corner of the sofa where he had resisted all Kate's attempts to persuade him to converse. "She doesn't play like a sane person."

“You mean I do not play the way _you_ do.”

"Well, I'm intrigued," Carson said, grinning as he looked from Athosian to Athosian. "Would you care to play a game now, Lady Emmagan?"

“Hey, I asked first!”

“You asked if she played chess,” Carson said mildly. “But I’ll concede you the first game, John, as long as the lady doesn’t object.”

A board was procured, but there was no space for it on the table, filled with glasses and little plates of sweets to nibble at.

“Balance it on the chair edge?” Kate suggested. She’d ceded her place in the chair to John, and Carson had swapped with Teyla and was peering over her shoulder. John wasn’t sure he particularly liked the interest the other man was taking in Teyla, although her Athosian escort didn’t seem to notice. Then again, Elizabeth was presently speaking to Arungen, as casually as a Queen could, given that the male she was talking to was tense as catgut.

“We’d risk losing the entire game if someone tipped it up...”

“If I may, Prince?”

John handed the board over to her, the box of pieces still in his lap. Then he stared as she laid the board down on the air between them, perfectly flat - and, when he tapped the top of it, perfectly stable.

Conversations around the room stopped.

“Mother Night.”

“What--?”

“How’d you do that?”

Teyla shrugged. “Think of a smooth, flat surface in the air, and then make it hard.” She tapped the air a little way away from the board edge, and her finger stayed level with the ‘table’. “I learned to do it as a child.”

“And it’s no effort just to keep it there?”

“No more than it is to put a warming spell on a plate of food.” She was perfectly calm about it, unbothered by the attention. “Equal strength game, Prince?"

"Sound’s reasonable."

John gave her the lighter piece so she would get the first move, and they began to set up the board.

He didn't raise his eyes to look at her layout until he'd finished setting up his own pieces - Warlord Princes interspersed among the Blood male pawns and Warlords out the front, the Healers, Priestesses, and Black Widows protecting the castles and the Queen behind everyone, safely in the territory.

Teyla had chosen quite a different layout. Her Queen stood boldly in the centre of the territory surrounded by pawns, a few Warlords and one Warlord Prince. Her Priestesses and Healers also held the castles, but they held them with Warlords, and Black Widows were almost at the front of the field, up there with the majority of the Warlord Princes.

It was not a starting layout John would have chosen. But he kept his mouth shut and just watched as she moved a pawn forward.

“Your move, Prince.”

A dozen moves later, and he began to understand why Toran had said her game was insane.

Chess was said to be a game in which you learned a lot about your opponent in the way they attacked and defended, the way they laid out their pieces, the way they played through their moves.

If so, John was being educated - and hard.

Playing chess against a witch was usually an entirely different game to playing against a Blood male. Their thinking was entirely backwards.

Elizabeth’s game was an exercise in frustration. She would do almost anything to avoid sacrificing pawns, even if it meant putting her Queen in danger. Playing against Kate was just as painful. The Healer refused to use the male pieces to defend, ending up with her female pieces sacrificed early on.

In contrast, playing against Teyla Emmagan was an exercise in strategic thinking.

She was ruthless in the game, willing to sacrifice male and female pieces alike. Her plays were deep; several times John ended up sacrificing two or three pawns to save a major piece, and while she would move the Queen out of her territory, she wouldn’t leave the Queen out long, which drove a man mad trying to checkmate her.

“You’re sure you want to sacrifice the Priestess?” He said after one move.

Teyla regarded the board, then lifted her gaze to him, her lashes fringing her eyes, like dark gold clouds shading a dark moon. “Yes.”

John took the Priestess with a Warlord Prince - and, in the next sequence of moves, ended up sacrificing the Warlord Prince and two pawns to a Black Widow and a Warlord who pinned each successive piece. Admiration stabbed sharp and deep as he accepted the pieces she returned him - along with something sharper and entirely more elemental as her fingertips grazed his palm.

“Good play,” he said, and hoped that the huskiness in his voice wasn’t too noticeable.

“Thank you, Prince.”

Two moves later, she captured one of his Healers and a pawn with a daring raid into castle territory. John captured the Warlord Prince with a Black Widow, then had to sacrifice another Warlord to get the Widow back to safety.

“It seems she has your measure, Sheppard,” observed Sumner, who’d come to look at the game, along with Griffin and Parrish.

John ignored the malice of Sumner’s comment, and glanced up at Teyla who was considering her next move. “She does.”

“She’d probably have yours if she played you, Marshall,” Elizabeth said, laughing. “Wherever and whenever you learned chess, Teyla, you learned very well.”

“At home, in Athos,” she said, moving another pawn with a smile.

“I guess it’s something for a man to do on those long winter nights, eh?" Griffin commented. His smirk was just shy of a leer as he leaned over Teyla’s shoulder, almost looking down her dress. John’s temper sparked at the dual implications.

But Teyla looked up at Griffin as though she’d only just noticed he was there at all. “Something, yes.”

In those two words, she managed to make it sound as though even playing chess would be more than she cared to do with Griffin.

Temper shimmered into a smirk, and while the Warlord spluttered and retreated, Teyla glanced back at John. One corner of her mouth eased upwards; one lid dipped low over the earth-dark iris in a wink.

Hunger leaped, sudden as a sting, fierce as wildfire. It burned in his flesh, in his belly and balls, and he could feel her fingers gripping his hair, the salt of her flesh on his tongue, the hum of pleasure in her throat as he drove her to completion over and over again....

“John?”

It was a shock to realise the room was watching him, waiting for his move.

“Prince Sheppard?”

Her expression was light, questioning. They’d shared a moment’s amusement, nothing more. Not yet.

John quirked a smile at her, reining in desire, and moved his piece.

He’d ask her to call him John later.

\--

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

“I did. Thank you.”

They’d left Kate and her escort behind at the last junction, with Teyla assuring Toran that Prince Sheppard would be more than capable of escorting her to her rooms.

John hoped that meant what he thought it meant.

Her hand rested on his as they walked down the corridor, her skin firm and warm against his knuckles.

“Well, I didn’t contribute much.”

“You were kind enough to lose to me at chess.”

“And you’re kind enough to make it sound deliberate.” He grinned across his arm at her. “It’s been my pleasure to escort you, Lady Teyla.”

A subtle signal - nothing more than the hint that he would be glad to continue the pleasure into the night if she so wished.

His heart was pounding in his chest, an odd nervousness for this uncertainty. He’d made the offer to other witches before and been taken up on it, willingly and eagerly, and the lady had no complaint in the morning. But he’d never felt like an adolescent boy hoping to steal kisses from the young witches in the court - even when he’d been an adolescent boy.

She was free to ignore the offer, of course, without prejudice or complaint, but John nearly held his breath as he waited for her response.

“And your escort has been appreciated this evening,” she said as they reached her door. “I understand breakfast is served from dawn onwards?”

“Ah, yes. Although there aren’t usually many people at dawn. The warriors often don’t turn up until after their training finishes, though - a couple of hours after dawn, so if you don’t want to be surrounded by males talking fighting moves, then I suggest having breakfast early or late. Or you could ask the servants to bring you something in your suite.”

“I see.”

Teyla stared off down the corridor for a moment, giving John an excellent view of the line of her throat, from the emerald that swung from her earlobe to the delicate jut of her collarbone. He’d kiss his way down her throat as slowly as he could bear, resting his tongue against the pulse in her throat while his lips teased her skin, and his hands made her pulse stutter and race...

Then she turned back to him, and her eyes were watchful and veiled. The careful eyes of a witch who’d perhaps just realised the possible dangers of being in an empty corridor with a dark-Jewelled Warlord prince.

 _She’s just a village witch._

John took the hint and stepped back, reining in desire, making it clear that her wishes would be respected. He’d hoped for too much; that disappointment was on his expectations, not on her reaction.

Her expression softened, just a little bit, but she pushed open her door behind her. “Thank you once again, Prince Sheppard.”

John bowed briefly - nothing more than a nod of his head. “You’re welcome yet again. Good night, Lady Teyla. Sleep well.”

And when the door closed behind her, John exhaled a long sigh of something like regret and headed for his quarters.

He had the rest of her visit to encourage her to change her mind, to let him into her bed, to trust him. It would be a challenge, and John was more than up for it.

He let sleep take him, smiling.

\--

The morning air was cool, but with the promise of later warmth, and the sky above was a hazy blue.

Teyla stepped out into the courtyard where the servant had told her the training usually took place and immediately felt herself the focus of many male gazes.

She tensed, then put her shoulders back and sought a familiar face among the men who’d gathered this morning.

There, over by the weapons table, was Prince Sumner, and Lords Bates, Markham, and Griffin. Not exactly who she had hoped to see this morning. She saw Lady Melia's Master of the Guard - Prince Jorthyn, who paused, frowning at her from where he organised the males of the court into training pairs.

Teyla smiled and began to cross over to him, her shields up, her senses alert, her expression fixed to one of ease and comfort, as though she was unconcerned by the presence of so many males and she the only female. Then she saw John Sheppard detaching himself from a solitary corner of the yards and walking across to greet her.

She turned her head to give him good greeting...

"What are you doing here?"

Teyla felt contrariness spark at his ungracious demand. She didn't slow her pace, merely allowing him to fall into step beside her if he wished to hear her answer. "Much the same as you, Prince. This is training, is it not?"

“Warrior training.”

“And women cannot be warriors?”

He paused at that. “You’ve been trained to fight?”

“Yes.” She refused to think of how that training had failed her the time she most needed it. There had been other reasons for that - things she could not control or prevent.

If it should happen again, she was older now, and prepared. She had her Jewels and the fullness of her training in the Hourglass, and she should never be helpless again.

Even if her senses could not entirely quell the fear she felt at being in the midst of all these males.

“Lady Teyla.” Prince Jorthyn frowned briefly at her. “You’ve come to see the warriors training?”

“I have come to train with the warriors.”

There were murmurs at that, verging on the edge of mockery. No outrage at least; it was preposterous, not offensive.

“If it’s training you want, I’d be willing to give it to you,” said one of the older males with a smirk and a look up and down her body that left no-one in doubt as to what kind of training he was referring to.

She did not know the workings in and out of the court, but Teyla guessed that was not a polite insinuation to make.

Beside her, Prince Sheppard tensed. Teyla put one hand out to catch his wrist as he stepped forward, and his flesh was hot beneath her fingertips. Certainly everyone felt the sharp spike of dark temper as a Warlord Prince rose to the killing edge. Breath caught in throats as males shifted subtly, their hands spreading wide, open palmed to present no threat.

For some reason, Sheppard had decided that Teyla Emmagan of Athos was a witch he would protect with his life. And with his dominant Jewels and dominant caste, the training yard might become a charnel-house if anyone tempted his temper.

*Prince,* she said, choosing to speak with him on a private thread. *Stand down.*

He turned to look at her, a hard, fierce look that had a lot of the predator in it and none of the charming young aristo who’d hinted that he’d be happy to warm her bed last night. *I will if he will.*

“Halbar,” Jorthyn snapped sharply. “That’s enough. Lady Emmagan is a guest of our Queen, and to be treated with the respect due a Black Widow of her status.”

Halbar pouted, clearly not pleased by the prospect of humiliation in front of the other males. Then Sheppard growled and the pout was knocked from his face like a wineglass from a table.

“Sorry,” he muttered, barely adequate.

Teyla inclined her head in acceptance of the apology, her fingers still resting on Prince Sheppard’s arm - the most tenuous of restraints. If he chose to break it there would be carnage.

For a moment, she wished for Lady Elizabeth to restrain him - a Queen to control a Warlord Prince’s anger - then set her soul in steel. It was not only Queens that Warlord Princes responded to; any female who knew how to handle the caste could manage one. So Charin had said, and so Teyla believed.

Still, as she closed her fingers around his wrist and looked up into his face, Teyla could not help a touch of uncertainty. *Thank you, Prince Sheppard.*

He was still glaring at Halbar. It was a moment more before he looked down at her. *You’re welcome, Lady.*

“Sheppard.” It seemed Jorthyn wasn’t finished. “I’m assigning you to spar with Lady Emmagan. I trust that you’ll show the same care for her person that you do for her honour.” The delicate lean on the words suggested that Atlantis court’s Master of the Guard considered her request an inconvenience rather than something to be incorporated into whatever training routines he had set up this morning.

Fine, then. Teyla had not expected that the males here would take it well. Certainly, the males in Athos had not - and most especially not after....

She would not think of that, though - not now, while standing amidst a yard full of stranger males.

Panic threatened and she drew on the power in her Jewels to ease it as she followed Prince Sheppard to a fenced-in sparring area. From the expression on his face, he was not pleased to be assigned to ‘ladysitting duty’ as Teyla heard muttered from one of the males they passed.

But he seized two unbladed sticks from the weapons table and handed one to her.

“You know how to use these, of course?”

“Of course.” She caught the stick he tossed her and weighed it in her palms, swishing it through the air to get the feel of its weight and balance. It was not as nicely balanced as her own stick - the wood was somewhat lighter, more prone to break or splinter, and consequently, she would have to hold it closer to the edges, rather than the middle grip that she preferred.

Ah well. That was part of the skill, was it not? To use what was to hand, if not what one was good at?

Carefully, Teyla moved through the opening stretches of her discipline, limbering up muscles that, she suspected, would have a hard workout. Prince Sheppard was in no pleasant temper as he ran through his own warm-up with considerable vigour, as though working out his temper on the empty air.

“When you are ready, Prince.”

“To first fall?”

“That would be acceptable.”

They took up ready stances, side-on to the rising sun, and Teyla bowed.

Then she attacked.

Gently, at first, although fast enough to surprise him somewhat. He blocked her blows, brows raised, and she gathered that he had not expected her to take the first initiative. Which seemed strange from one of a caste who were known for their temper and passion. Then he replied with his own, rather subdued attack, which Teyla repelled easily - and all the more easily since her own temper was beginning to rise.

From the look of things, Prince Sheppard was coddling her rather than attacking her with his full strength.

She let her defenses slip for a moment, her arms sagging as though tired, and saw his hesitation to take the advantage.

Her eyes narrowed.

Very well, then. If that was how it was to be...

Her next attack was hard, swift, and brutal. She rapped him across the knuckles, poked him in the solar plexus, and whacked him across the back of the knees, taking his feet out from under him so he stretched his length in the dust.

Then she used the bladed stick as a leaning post as she looked down at him. “I appreciate the courtesy, Prince Sheppard. However, perhaps now you will consider giving me an actual challenge?”

Shock hazed his expression as he stared up at her for a moment, the blue arch of the sky reflected in his eyes - shock and a dash of something like temper. Then something that wasn’t quite a smile twitched the corners of his mouth, and he climbed to his feet. “I’ll be glad to, Lady.”

This time, he attacked her, and there was no hesitation in it. Teyla felt her mouth curve as she blocked him and spun him away, stepping aside so his attack was diverted away from her. He came at her again, and she blocked, solidly this time, taking the pressure of the blow in her arms as she bent her elbows. A smile was playing about his lips, none of last night’s charm but all the more delightful for the naked pleasure in who and what he was.

John Sheppard might have learned how to be charming and politic, but his nature lent him to be a fighter.

Teyla could admire that.

She could admire the way he no longer hesitated in attack, having decided that she was capable of taking what he dished out, and that she would return it with her own strength and force. She could admire the way his mind worked behind the eyes that gleamed dark hazel at her. And she could certainly admire the way the shirt clung to his torso, the way he moved like one of the hunter cats, coiled strength and contained movement, as though there were layers to his strength and strength in his layers.

Still, he was unaccustomed to fighting a witch - someone who was accustomed to using his height and strength and weight against him.

When Teyla laid him out in the dust this time, they were both breathing hard, but she imagined they were also both satisfied by the bout. Certainly Sheppard didn’t seem particularly angry at his defeat.

Cheers and catcalls from the railing startled her out of the cocoon of concentration she had wound about herself, narrowing her awareness down to her and her opponent. They’d gained an audience, some appreciative, others plainly wary.

She ignored them, offering Prince Sheppard a hand up from his prone position. She felt his fingers wind around her wrist as he used her strength to haul himself up - then kept his hand on her wrist.

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

“In Athos,” she said, smiling at his admiration. “Charin’s husband was a veteran of the border wars with the Wraith when he was young; he used to teach the youth in our village the fighting techniques.”

“Unusual.”

“So he said. But living so close to the Wraith and so far from the capital, he felt it was better to train ourselves in basic defence.”

He nearly dropped the stick he called back to his hand. “That’s _basic defence_ in Athos?”

“I continued the training past when the others stopped. It was a way to focus my mind, and as I learned my Craft from Charin, I learned fighting skills from Kamus.”

“Good ones, clearly,” he said, frankly admiring as he held the gate open for her.

Teyla walked through, trying not to feel like she was being crowded by the males who’d gathered around the arena to watch them fight. While most had seemed scornful of her inclusion before, now, there was a wary respect in most faces - not all, but a few.

She headed directly for Prince Jorthyn where he and several older males were talking in low voices. They hadn’t been staying around to watch, but Teyla had little doubt that he had watched her capabilities. Lady Melia would not have a Master of the Guard who was otherwise oblivious to what was happening at his own training. “Prince.”

“Lady Emmagan. You’ve had impressive training.”

“I had an impressive teacher,” she said simply. “Training takes place every morning at dawn here?”

“It does. You intend to join us?”

“Yes.” Teyla knew better than to give her reasons, if Prince Jorthyn wished for them, he could ask for them.

He didn’t ask, just nodded. “All right.” Then he returned to whatever he and the other males had been discussing before, and Teyla went to get the drink Prince Sheppard was pouring for her at the drinks table. His expression no longer admiring, but carefully veiled. Still, he took his defeat in good spirit, and from the look of some of the males who hovered just beyond the drinks table, watching her, it seemed that there were some intrigued by her skill.

For the moment, it was enough that he seemed to have accepted that she wished to train with them and that she was skilled enough to hold her own - if only with the younger warriors.

With the sweat of her efforts already drying on her skin, Teyla wondered whether she would be accepted for her Hourglass Craft as easily.

Somehow, she doubted it.

\--

This morning the Lady looked weary, as though the night had not been restful.

Today, Teyla could see the shadows beneath her eyes, even with the careful make-up to disguise it. And if the Queen seemed strong enough where she sat, Teyla sensed the fragility about her. Her time was running out indeed. It was little wonder that she sought to know the future of the Territory she had spent her life ruling.

Still, whatever weariness she felt, Lady Melia was gracious when Teyla arrived after a quick wash and breakfast. Since her Triangle were not yet present, she took the time to inquire about Teyla’s social activities of the previous night and expressed interest in a game of chess against her sometime during her stay.

“Sometimes I play against Elizabeth, or my Healer, Phradis, occasionally against Hodar or Aethan, although Jorthyn no longer will.” Her mouth twitched up to one side. “He says he should rather be run through by a Wraith than play against me. It would be less painful.”

Teyla smiled. The Master of the Guard would indeed find his Queen’s chess-play painful to watch.

Her father had been wont to say that chess was not a game to play with enemies or those into whose hands a witch put her safety. The first was folly, the second, frustrating.

Such niceties were cut short when Lady Melia's Blood Triangle arrived, together, as though to present a united front against their Queen's spoken intentions. Prince Hodar had nodded courteously at her, and Prince Jorthyn gave her a measuring look, but Lord Aethar took his place beside Lady Melia without even acknowledging Teyla's presence.

"I have known for some time that nothing less than my own vision-web would show me what I need to protect Atlantis," Lady Melia said, getting down to the matter of the services she required of Teyla. "Charin has spun me many webs through the years, but they have not provided the answers I sought."

"And that failure then requires your presence in the Twisted Kingdom?" Lord Aethan frowned. As yet, he'd shown himself the most vocal protester of the three. "Black Widows are trained to navigate the Twisted Kingdom and it's dangers. But a Queen is too valuable to risk!"

"A Queen is well able to make her own choices," said Lady Melia with droll reproof. "And I think the risk will be worth the gain. I had hoped that Charin would be able to accompany into the veils of the Twisted Kingdom, but I trust her pupil's skill."

"And that is the point where we diverge," said Prince Hodar gently. "With no disrespect intended towards Lady Teyla's training or Lady Charin's tutelage, still you ask us to put your life in the hands of a witch who has neither reached her majority, nor performed such a task before."

Teyla felt their eyes rest on her, but did not refute this - it was, after all, true. "I have no counter to Prince Hodar's concerns," she said. "Walking the paths of the Twisted Kingdom is not something to be done lightly."

"And I do not request this undertaking lightly," added Lady Melia.

"Yet you expect us to entrust your safety to the care of a witch without experience or maturity?"

"I suspect Lady Teyla has considerably more maturity than her age indicates," said Prince Jorthyn, speaking for the first time. His eyes rested on her, thoughtful after the morning's training. "What precautions would you take to ensure Lady Melia's safety?"

"Jorthyn!"

"It's obvious Melia's already decided her course," said Jorthyn with a glance at his Queen. "My concern at this time is her safety. We can't follow her into the Twisted Kingdom, and it'd be folly to interrupt a Widow's web in the making, but if she's going to go, then I'm going to know what protections are in place."

He looked expectantly at Teyla.

"Only those that are in place for any Black Widow; her Jewels, her skills, and an alert mind."

"That's not enough."

"It is all there is." Frustration stirred within her, although her expression remained earnest. "This is not like a battle, Prince Jorthyn. I can and will shield Lady Melia as best can be done, but for her to seek answers she must take the burden of the Twisted Kingdom upon herself."

In her mind, she could hear Charin's gentle instruction. _It is only in the Twisted Kingdom that we may see the fullness of possibility and perceive where the skeins of our webs may lead. It is a risk to take that burden onto ourselves, even willingly, but it is in the price of seeing what might otherwise be clouded over._

But that was not easily explained

"Perhaps, if we had some idea of exactly how Lady Teyla goes into the Twisted Kingdom?"

And now they expected her to share Hourglass secrets.

"That is the training of the Hourglass coven," Teyla said quietly. “It is not permitted to speak of it.”

"So you ask us to trust you with our Queen, untried, untested..."

" _She_ does not ask, Jorthyn," Lady Melia interrupted before Teyla could speak. " _I_ do. Lady Teyla is here to discuss my journey with me; your presence is a courtesy. And I trust the skill of Lady Charin’s pupil."

"It's dangerous, Melia. You know the state of the court - it's not just the Wraith who are waiting..."

Teyla caught the warning glance shot from Prince Jorthyn to Lord Aethar, and the glance Prince Hobar sent her way. A Widow was accustomed to feeling the words that went unsaid, of picking up the psychic undercurrents of which nobody spoke. "Lady Melia," she said into the silence. "Your...illness. There is nothing that the Healers can do?"

The males reacted as she expected - surprise and suspicion at what she knew, but the Lady leaned back in her chair, apparently unsurprised by Teyla’s knowledge.

"I have seen all the Healers we have - the best in Atlantis and even in Cheyenne. They - and Charin and the other Black Widows I have called upon in the courts of the Province Queens - have all said the same thing; I can buy a little time with the Healers’ Craft, but only a little. Enough time to train up my successor."

"Lady Elizabeth."

"Yes. She told you?"

"She did not have to."

Teyla might be a village witch, but she was not insensible of the interplay of power among the Blood - gender and caste and Jewel strength balanced against each other in the dynamics that played out. She needed no vision web to show her what the future held. A young, strong Queen, with a young, strong court around her, trained to the responsibilities of rule. Intimate in the Queen’s court, and experienced in the ways of dealing with people - from headstrong Warlord Princes to uncertain village Bloods. It was possible that Lady Elizabeth might simply be at court for other reasons - to socialise, to be close to the seat of power, to be close to her father; possible, but unlikely.

“A Black Widow’s senses.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve dreamed of Atlantis court?”

Teyla looked at Prince Hobar. “No. But the land...” For a moment, she debated whether to explain it. “There is a discordance here in Atlantis court. The land is linked to the Queens, and the psychic undercurrents speak of uncertainty. I felt it as I stepped off the Landing Web yesterday.”

From their slight frowns, she did not imagine they understood.

However, Lady Melia nodded. “You have a strong gift, then. Yes, there is uncertainty in the court. We have kept the news of my illness quiet for some time - most people believe it is merely an extended sickness left over from the winter. In a way, it is. Elizabeth has always been my choice for successor, ever since she came into her adult strength, and her father and the First Circle agree.”

“However, Lady Elizabeth is not yet ready to take up the responsibility of ruling the Territory,” said Prince Hobar. “She is young - only just past her majority - and although she is strong in herself... Most of the Province Queens have agreed to accept her, but there are District Queens who are...less than pleased at the prospect of a Queen their own age being granted Territory Rule.”

“This was not an easy decision,” said Lady Melia after a moment. “Yet I feel... It is the right decision to make." She looked up, met Teyla's gaze. "I feel that. But I would be sure of it."

Teyla nodded. "The Twisted Kingdom can show you that. However, your Blood Triangle is right, Lady. The Twisted Kingdom is dangerous, even for Widows. I can take you in, follow your path so you may show me what you see, but the danger always exists."

"I accept that. And, yes, Aethar," Lady Melia turned her head to regard her Consort where he shifted, "I've heard the words of Steward, Consort, and Master of the Guard, and they have been accounted. But this needs to be done. If it costs me my life, I must know the future of Atlantis."

The words hung in the air, delicate and dangerous.

For a moment, the three males exchanged looks with each other. Then Prince Hobar spoke. "As the Queen wills."

It signified their acceptance of Lady Melia's decision, even if they weren't happy about it. They were the Triangle; they served their Queen.

"Tomorrow evening, then, Lady Emmagan?"

"What, so soon?" Prince Aethar protested.

"I'd prefer this sooner than later,” said Lady Melia, betraying a hint of her own unease with what she was planning. “You have no objections to the evening?”

Other than that she also thought it too soon? Teyla shook her head, keeping her poise. “No, my Lady.”

"Is there any particular place in which you wish to work?"

"I can work from any place. Where is most comfortable for you?”

"My workroom then." Lady Melia smiled. “Thank you for this.”

“I do as Charin would,” she said to the Lady. “And will protect you as Charin would.” And that was directed at the Lady’s Triangle.

“You’d better.” Lord Aethar looked grim. “If anything happens to her...”

“Then Lady Teyla will not be held to blame.” And now there was steel in Lady Melia’s voice as she looked at her Blood Triangle. “I have your word on this?”

It took them a moment to agree. And even when they did, Teyla felt only a little more reassured. A promise to a Queen was one thing; what a male might do in rage or anger was something else entirely.

\--

“They serve their Queen.” Toran said softly as they walked through the orchards in the afternoon.

Teyla huffed. Trust a male to agree with males! “I was polite.”

“I am sure you were. But you have never been known for patience.”

“I can be very patient when the need arises,” she retorted, nettled by his teasing. “Remember the Winsol lastday banquet the year Halling handfasted to Jeren?”

“I remember the mayhem it caused,” Toran shot her a sharp look. “And you sitting in the midst of it, smiling!”

A laugh escaped her, welcome relief after the tension of the morning, spent under the scrutiny of Lady Melia’s Blood triangle.

They were out in the orchards to escape the constant presence of those around them. The advantage of this part of the garden was that it was large, and one could see someone coming from a very long way off and avoid them if necessary.

Not that Teyla was avoiding anyone. She simply wished some time around someone she knew she could implicitly trust, without the eyes of the court upon her.

By lunchtime, it had filtered through that Lady Melia had called Teyla to court to help her with a spell. The details of Lady Melia’s request - that she wished to walk in the Twisted Kingdom to better see through the veils of the future - were not yet known. At least, not known publically. It was in Elizabeth’s eyes when the young Queen sat down to lunch, but she didn’t speak of it over the meal.

“I did not smile this morning,” she told Toran. “It was a grilling quite equal to any that Voran used to issue.”

“And I am sure you stood more than equal to face it.”

“I stood. I do not know if I was equal to it.”

Toran shrugged. “You knew when we came here that there would be distrust. We have grown up alongside you, Teyla, and if your training is a mystery to us, you are not.” He glanced up at the delicate pale stripes of the apple tree branches overhead. “Lady Elizabeth’s circle seems minded to be kind. Well, most of them. Prince Sumner still behaves as though he would not piss on me if I were on fire.”

Teyla burst into sudden laughter before she recollected herself. “If you say that in front of any of Lady Melia’s court...”

“I’ve better sense than that! But I spent the morning with Prince Beckett, and a Prince by the name of Parrish. We talked about our backgrounds - Prince Beckett is from a minor aristo family up north, and came to foster with Prince Sheppard’s family when he was a teenager. Much the same story holds for Prince Parrish.”

“Prince Beckett has a kind heart,” Teyla noted. “And can be charming when he wishes to be.”

Then again, others in the court could also be charming when they chose.

Toran seemed to catch her thought, for she saw him glance sideways at her with a smirk. “Prince Sheppard is making a point of staying close.”

“Or keeping an eye on me.”

“Certainly, Prince Sheppard’s eyes remain on you.”

Teyla was not so sure.

Regarding this morning’s sparring, reaction in the court appeared to have been mixed. The witches were mostly admiring, although the pretty, pointed brunette from last night had made a thinly-veiled comment about Teyla hardly needing a male at all.

Prince Sheppard seemed to be taking the teasing in his stride - save for at lunchtime when Prince Sumner had made the observation that Sheppard must be slipping in his training. Time was he wouldn’t have let anyone beat him. It had taken Lady Elizabeth’s hand on Prince Sheppard's arm to stop the two males snapping at each other, and Sumner had been in a bad temper the rest of the meal.

Teyla supposed she had been wrong in her estimation last night. The conflict between Prince Sumner and Prince Sheppard was one of dominance, yes; but it had distinct echoes of two village boys trying to outdo each other in peacocking for a witch’s attention. That the witch in this case was a Queen was no surprise, although Teyla felt a little wary considering he’d been casting such obvious lures her way last night.

“I do not think his interest tends that way.”

“It doesn’t seem to tend any other,” Toran said, then hesitated. “I know it has not been easy for you after…”

Teyla looked at him as he trailed off. At least he had the sense to realise he had trespassed. “Did Charin put you up to this?”

“Jeren.”

She sighed. Halling’s wife was new and from another village. Well-intentioned but not aware of the village’s history. Not aware of the villagers’ histories. “If she asks, you may tell her that I flirted shamelessly with the males in the court.”

“Halling would know otherwise.”

“Then let him.” Teyla shrugged, concealing her annoyance. Her friends meant well - all of them - but all their intentions did not change the fact that this was Teyla’s life and she did not want other people to run it for her.

Besides which, she did not imagine that an aristo Warlord Prince would be interested in anything more than briefly warming the bed of a village witch, whatever Toran thought. And she...well, it would be wrong to say she was ‘not interested’ in taking a lover, but she had found it easier to be without any lover than to have to bring her history into bed with her.

It was not a pleasant history.

“I see Lady Elizabeth approaching.” Toran’s words broke Teyla out of her thoughts.

Teyla lifted a hand in greeting, and the young woman came to them. Elizabeth was dressed in comfortable, loose trousers and a long-sleeved shirt with a scooped neck, over which her Birthright Green Jewel hung in a setting of silver, and Teyla envied her the comfort of that outfit. She was growing tired of the more formal dresses that she felt were required wearing for a Black Widow in a court. From overheard comments, she’d already gleaned that she and Toran were seen as ‘country bumpkins’, and being underdressed in the court would only add to that, uncomfortable as it was being in formal clothing all the time.

“I hope I’m not interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Teyla assured her with a smile. Toran immediately stepped away, giving them a little space.

Expecting Elizabeth to speak on the morning's meeting - about which she would surely have been informed, Teyla was a little surprised when the other witch said nothing.

They walked out from beneath the fine green filter of the new leaves, out into the afternoon sunlight, and Teyla squinted briefly, then cast a spell that would shade her eyes from the direct glare. It wasn’t yet so warm that the sun was uncomfortable, but the land itself was stirring, heading for summer.

Teyla didn’t have a Queen’s sense of the land, but she could feel the land awakening from its winter sleep, yawning and stretching itself. Before too long, the Queens throughout the Territory would make the blood gift to the land, to help prepare it for the planting, to enrich the harvest, to give the land power before the winter came.

And by Winsol, the woman walking beside her would be Queen of Atlantis Territory.

The knowledge gripped Teyla with a suddenness that shook her. It came fiercer than a vision, with certainty. She caught her breath and nearly stepped awry.

She didn’t know where the knowledge came from, only that it was there, and sharper, fiercer, harder than any vision or foreknowing she’d ever previously experienced. A great event, and a greater passing.

Was this why she had been sent to Atlantis court?

“Teyla?” Elizabeth’s eyes rested upon her, alarmed.

Toran was at her elbow a moment later. "Teyla?"

It took her a moment to find her balance again, and she exhaled long and slow as she met Elizabeth’s gaze. "I apologise. My mind wandered a moment there and I lost my footing."

Something in her cautioned against sharing what she had seen to either of them - even Elizabeth, whom it concerned. This was for Lady Melia’s telling alone, should the Queen wish to hear it. And if not... If not, it was a burden that Teyla must carry herself. That, Charin had said once, was the price of being a Black Widow - to see the things that others could not, to carry the weight of that knowledge.

And so Teyla smiled and wondered that they did not realise she was shaken. Apparently she was good at projecting calm when she wished; even Toran did not question her fall, and Elizabeth was solicitous.

"You have had a busy morning."

"Yes. Your duties for the day are done?"

"Mostly. Carson and I have a meeting with Hobar about the court estates in a few hours, but the next little while is free. I heard Lady Melia's Triangle was very...forthright."

"One could also say that water is wet."

Elizabeth grinned. "Well, they're a Blood Triangle, so it's not surprising. There's no stopping the males when they get the bit in their mouths..."

"You describe them like horses?"

"They fit the description. Rather too well." Elizabeth's sigh was rueful, but there was a twinkle in her eye as she looked beyond to Toran. "I imagine that the males of Athos also manage their witches well?"

"Or are managed," Toran said with sudden frankness. Then he blushed and seemed embarrassed. "Forgive me, Lady Weir. I spoke out of turn."

"Not at all." She smiled. "Anyway, I came out to ask whether you had plans for the afternoon. Kate reminded me to see if you had time to come by the workroom and show her those spells you were talking about last night."

In the busyness of the morning, Teyla had almost forgotten the blonde Healer's offer.

“I do, and I would. If there is time to change?"

"Plenty of it. And if Rodney returns before dinner, you'll have the opportunity to meet him, too," Elizabeth said.

Something in Elizabeth's voice caught Teyla's attention. She arched a brow. "But not the pleasure?"

"Well," Elizabeth said, a little wryly, "Rodney can be an...acquired taste."

\--

After a long and fruitless hunt through the estate house, looking for any signs of the Athosians and finding nothing, John gave up and went looking for Rodney.

The other male had arrived in the court in midmorning, and promptly launched into a tirade about his family, his sister Jeannie, her husband-to-be, and the monotony of the previous night spent having to pretend to be sociable. " _Which, of course, I don't do._ " Then he'd vanished into his workroom, not even emerging for lunch.

John knew better than to disturb Rodney for the first few hours after the Prince returned from his family. His friend was solitary in many ways, preferring to be left alone to his own devices than pestered with conversations and questions he couldn't - and sometimes didn't want to - answer. Carson thought that was where his obsession and interest in spells came from: a natural introversion coupled with a desire to avoid interaction had led to bookishness, studies, and spells as a means of staying out of the social interactions of aristo gatherings - or a Queen's court.

Still, enough was enough, and John figured that after a few hours of peace, Rodney would be itching for someone to snipe at.

He heard Rodney lecturing someone from the other end of the corridor, the sharp tenor rising and falling in typically Rodney-esque annoyance.

"It says nothing of the kind! Can you even read the text? It says, quite clearly I might add, that you should boil it until the seeds turn black."

The response was quiet - too low for John to hear, but the calm, measured tones were probably Kate Heitmeyer, one of the few witches with the patience to deal with Rodney in a snit.

Less patient was Elizabeth's reprimand. "Rodney!"

"Sorry," came the mutter. "But it quite clearly says--"

"We can read, Rodney." And that was Kate carefully not losing her temper.

"Yet you're not doing it the way the instructions specify!"

John sauntered into the room. "Maybe you should let Kate do it her way..." He trailed off as not three, but five pairs of eyes fixed upon him. Toran of Athos was playing chess against Elizabeth, while the third person at the workbench, alongside Rodney and Kate, was the missing Lady Emmagan, clad in casual trousers and a rolled-sleeve shirt.

It took John a moment to regain use of his tongue. "...and you do it your own way and compare the results at the end."

It wasn't that the trousers and shirt were particularly attractive on her. It was just that she looked...casual. Comfortable. Almost deliciously so, with her hair in a ponytail instead of twined up on her head, so his eyes could linger on the back of her neck.

*If you don't pull your tongue in,* said Rodney sharply on a spear thread, *her escort's going to notice.*

John bit back the retort that his tongue wasn't hanging out. And the response that he could easily take a mere Blood male if it came down to a fight. And the words that hovered about his lips as he came up beside Lady Emmagan at the workbench: _I've been looking for you_.

Instead, he planted his elbows beside hers on the benchtop. "What are you doing?"

She didn't quite lean back, but he got the distinct impression that his proximity didn't make her comfortable, for all that her answer was civil and even. "A potion that numbs pain so a Healer can work on them without requiring psychic blocks,"

"Useful."

"In some ways," Kate said.

"In a lot of ways. Something that numbs pain during battle would be good for warriors - they could keep fighting without feeling it."

"Except that feeling it is exactly what you want them to do," Rodney snapped. "Because pain is how the body tells us something is wrong. Numbing pain in the middle of a fight would probably be more likely to get you killed."

"Or give you an extra edge," John countered, although he could see Rodney's view. He just knew better than to give Rodney an argumentative foothold.

"An extra edge in being dead?"

"Ever been in a fight where half the battle is your own body?" John knew the answer. Rodney was good at what he did - spells and spell-making, cutting the more egotistical young Blood down where they stood, and suffering no fools; he wasn’t a warrior and had never been in a fight.

Beside him, Teyla tilted her head, looking curiously at John. “Have you?”

It wasn’t intended as a challenge. Still, John felt himself tense in subtle temper. Then sensed her tense in subtle fear.

“Yes,” he said, shortly.

He’d spent whole seasons on the Wraith borders alongside older, more experienced males from all over Atlantis Territory - and no few from Cheyenne and Genii Territories, too. What had started as rebellion against his father had turned out to be a real gift - in strategy and fighting style, in calculation and cunning.

He’d learned discipline. Enough to keep hold of the temper that threatened to rise to the killing edge, prompted entirely by her fear.

That was the conflict inherent in being a Warlord Prince - violence and passion all intertwined, an ever-present reminder that the Blood were dangerous, simply by being Blood; yet also the need to be trusted, to be protective of the witches they cared about. When a Warlord Prince’s temper fed a witch’s fear, it could easily turn into a vicious cycle that would end in bloodshed.

John knew that only too well.

*John.*

*I know.* His Queen’s presence helped to rein in his anger, the reassurance that he needed. John had always counted himself lucky to find his Queen young, and luckier to belong to a Queen worth serving; some Warlord Princes never knew that at all.

He looked at Teyla Emmagan again, his temper under control, and wondered if she understood what she’d roused in him - and whether she’d stand up and face it, or run from it in fear.

Now wasn’t the time to find out.

“Well,” Rodney said, sarcasm oozing from his voice, “now that we’ve established Sheppard’s fighting prowess, maybe we can get back to the real work? I still think that the instructions say we’re supposed to boil the mixture.”

Teyla was still staring at John. “I believe Prince Sheppard’s suggestion might have some value.”

John blinked. “What suggestion?”

“What suggestion?”

For a moment, she ignored Rodney’s echo, simply studying John’s face as though she wasn’t sure what to make of him. John tried to put on his most harmless expression, and it seemed to work. At least, she brushed a wisp of fringe out from her face. “His initial suggestion that Kate do it as she feels it should be done, and Rodney follows the book. It will be interesting to see the results. If you have enough ingredients.”

“If we have enough ingredients?” Rodney snorted, and the next moment the workbench was filled with herb pouches and small bottles of seeds or powders. “I don’t know how things work in your village, but here? Not a problem. Now, where’s the vallet leaf?”

John pulled up a stool so he could watch the goings-on, only briefly glancing over to the chess game happening at the other end of the workbench.

Watching Teyla Emmagan work was revealing, in and of itself.

She worked briskly. Her hands moved across the packages and bottles, selecting, reading, rubbing, discarding.

"The recipe calls for powder, not seeds," said Rodney, fishing through his bottles, looking vainly for the powdered herb in question.

"Grind up the seeds," Kate said. "We've a mortar and pestle."

"But that's work! And then you have to fish out the shells..."

Meanwhile, Teyla had silently called in what looked like a gauze bag, tipped the seeds into the bag, and put it into the mortar, then started grinding up the seeds while the other two looked on. When she put the mortar and pestle to the side - the pestle still pounding away - she simply asked, "What next?"

Not a witch who'd waste time when there were things to be done.

Rodney fussed of course, as he usually did with his spells. He muttered to himself and grumbled out loud, and tried to correct Kate who looked up and just lifted her brows. Rodney cut himself off, then began correcting Teyla.

She listened with more patience than John had seen anyone use when Rodney was involved, her expression polite as he expounded his opinion. Kate caught John’s gaze and rolled her eyes with something like a sigh. And Teyla listened until Rodney ran out of steam.

Then she said, “I see,” very calmly and solemnly, and went back to making the spell - the way she thought it should be made.

Rodney watched her work for nearly a full minute. John could almost see the steam pouring out his ears. Then the Prince just huffed, and went back to managing his own potion.

*Did you say anything?* John asked Elizabeth on a private Sapphire thread, so no-one else in the room could overhear.

*Not I,* she replied. *But I think he might be slightly impressed.*

Impressed? Or interested? John felt himself tense again.

*You really are interested,* Elizabeth said, both surprised and amused.

*She’s...not what I expected.*

*Of a villager? Or a Black Widow?*

*Both.* John watched as slim brown fingers delicately brushed the ground powder off the pestle and into the mixture, then placed the ceramic bowl over a tongue of witchfire, heating the potion to bubbling.

He barely felt the flick of Jewelled strength as she charged the spell before she reduced the witchfire's strength, boiling the potion down to a paste that would be be smeared on the skin.

"Do you do this at home much? Experiment, I mean."

"A little. If there is time."

"I expect you have lots of chores to do," said Rodney.

"We do not have servants," she agreed, stirring a glass rod through the thick, bubbling liquid. "So there are the daily chores to be done, even before our work."

"But isn't it boring?"

One shoulder lifted in a shrug. "There is always something to do. And when there is not, there are friends to see, books to read."

"What do you do for entertainment, though?"

She shrugged. "There are concerts and plays in our village and the neighbouring Blood villages. Halling's wife throws enjoyable dinner parties. In spring and late autumn hunting groups go out into the public forests seeking wild game to add to the pot."

"You hunt?" John asked, although he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. The witch who'd strolled into warrior training this morning expecting to be taken seriously was not one who would tremble at a little blood.

"A little. I am better at traps and snares than I am with bow or boarspear. Toran has a better eye for the target than I."

"Really? I heard you beat Sheppard this morning at training."

Her mouth twitched. "A man is very different to a beast. I find it easier to outwit a thinking opponent than an unthinking one."

"Shouldn’t you have had more trouble with Sheppard, then?" Rodney smirked in John's direction.

"Ha-ha. Aren't you finished yet?"

Kate was just warming her potion now, a frown gathering on her face as she activated the spell.

It hit John as she released that dab of Jewelled power.

Kate wore the Rose, a lighter Jewel with a fairly small reservoir of strength. The spell was activated with nothing more than a dab of power, but he felt it all the same. Rodney wore the Green, a darker Jewel with a greater reservoir of power, and all he needed was a drop to activate it.

All Teyla's potion had needed was a lick of power.

Either she was more accustomed to expending her Jewelled strength on potions - which was entirely possible given that she was a Black Widow and accustomed to making such spells - or else the Green Jewel she wore wasn’t her Jewel of Rank, but only her Birthright Jewel.

Which meant Teyla might wear anything from the Sapphire to the Grey.

John wore the Sapphire. And even in Atlantis court, that was dark. Prince Hobar wore the Sapphire, too, as did one of the older witches in Lady Melia’s First Circle. Elizabeth wore the Red - one of the reasons she was being trained up as the next Queen of Atlantis Territory, and also one of the reasons that many in the court were so wary of her.

Elizabeth wore the Red; John wore Sapphire; Rodney, Carson, and Sumner wore Green; Caldwell wore the Opal. The collection of dark-Jewelled Queen and dark-Jewelled males hadn't been intentional in any way - perhaps other than that strong males often craved a dark-Jewelled Queen to serve - it had just happened that they were, individually and together, powerful.

John had never been trained in visions and he made no claim to any unusual psychic sensitivity, but he couldn't keep from thinking that there was something more at play here - not just his own attraction to her, not just Lady Melia's request for a Black Widow's services, or the accident of Lady Charin's sickness carrying on into the spring. _Everything happens for a reason,_ had been his mother's favourite saying, just as his father's had been, _Everything has a price._

He thought about a dark-Jewelled Black Widow called to court to serve Lady Melia, and found himself wondering about the real reason Teyla Emmagan of Athos village had come to Atlantis court.

\--

The night passed crisp and cool.

John paused at the sight of Sumner sitting in the antechamber couch, a frown twitching across his face. *He's coming with us?*

*He has errands to run in the city,* Elizabeth said, and there was little patience in her psychic voice as she greeted Sumner. *John, it’s been the better part of six years now. You and Marshall have to work things out between you.*

*Why? We could just fight to the death...* John smirked a little at Elizabeth's glare. *Okay. I'll be nice. For your sake.*

*You'd better, John.* And to show her annoyance with him, she allowed herself to be drawn into conversation with the other Warlord Prince.

John didn't fume - not on the outside, at least. He knew he was dominant - in Jewels, in the length of time he'd known Elizabeth. But Sumner had more connections in Atlantis court - among Lady Melia's First and Second Circles, among the older males of the court. Maybe that wouldn't count in Elizabeth's view, but John felt it all the same.

He strode to the window and looked out at the clear afternoon.

"So, shall we be seeing Lady Emmagan and her escort anytime soon?" Sumner drawled from his chair. "Since this trip to the city was for her benefit."

"She's presently meeting with Lady Melia and the First Circle," said Elizabeth with a rustle that suggested she was seating herself. "I doubt they'll be very long."

"Is it true that she's here to weave a tangled web for Lady Melia?"

The silence behind John made him turn around. Sumner was looking at Elizabeth with the gaze he used to keep the younger males in line. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was unmoved by the gaze, but obviously disturbed by the questio

"No," she said after a moment. "I suppose it will be common knowledge by this afternoon. Lady Melia asked Teyla to take her into the Twisted Kingdom. Tonight."

John blinked. He hadn’t expected that. “ _Into_ the Twisted Kingdom? So she can see the visions for herself?”

Sumner tilted his head. “Is the haste so the First Circle doesn’t have time to argue?”

“Lady Melia’s Blood Triangle is behind her in this.”

“Really?” Sumner’s ice-blue gaze was fixed firmly on Elizabeth, who lifted her chin.

“Really.”

John didn’t like Marshall. But there was no denying that the other male had hit the issue on the nose. Lady Melia’s Blood Triangle would never allow her to go into the Twisted Kingdom - to walk the borders of what the landens called madness - with a Black Widow they’d only just met.

John wouldn’t have allowed it if it had been Elizabeth. Even if the Black Widow was Teyla Emmagan.

“I’m curious what concession Lady Melia made to get the agreement of her Triangle.” Sumner was watching Elizabeth like a hawk.. “Or what situation is so bad that it made them give in.”

Sumner had the court connections, but John was faster to reach the answer. And suddenly things were much clearer. "It's her sickness, isn't it? The one she's had all winter?"

Her fingers plucked at the fringed cushion on the couch. "Yes. The Healers...it's not something they can cure."

"And a Black Widow can?"

“No. But a Black Widow can show Lady Melia what lies ahead for the Territory.”

John frowned. “Are there doubts about your ability to rule because you haven’t ruled your own court?”

“No. It’s not that.” The flush on her cheeks might have been embarrassment or something else. “When a Queen’s served the land for so long...sometimes she has...visions. Just glimpses that might mean anything or nothing.”

“And Lady Melia’s getting glimpses of the future.”

“Yes.”

Sumner’s lips pressed together. "Hence the need for a Black Widow and the Twisted Kingdom."

"Yes. Except that Lady Charin is also sick. Not with the same thing, Teyla says. In Charin's case, it really is the winterlung sickness, but because Charin can't be moved, Teyla came in her place. John, Marshall, I don't have to warn you this is entirely in confidence."

And she was telling them because they were hers.

"I thought you said the court was going to be told this afternoon."

"They are," Elizabeth said.

But she bit her lip, and John’s eyes narrowed. "Does that mean...?"

Green eyes lifted to meet his gaze squarely. "Yes. She wants to go ahead with the succession plans."

Sumner blew out a long, harsh breath. "That changes things.”

“Yes, it does.” Elizabeth relaxed back on the cushions in her chair. *Do you see why you and Sumner need to work things out, John?*

He saw, but he didn’t like it. His Queen couldn’t afford infighting among the males of her First Circle - especially not when she would be a young, barely-tried Queen ruling a Territory like Atlantis.

Sumner was asking what was likely to happen in the succession plans, and Elizabeth opened her mouth to answer, then stopped, sitting up so fast that the pillow on her lap fell to the floor.

John was at her shoulder in moments, steadying her. "Elizabeth?"

After a moment, she blinked and looked up, astonishment written all over her face. "Stephen's back."

"He wasn't due for another week..." Sumner said, sharply. "What went wrong?"

John could almost feel the conversation between her and Caldwell, but he knew better than to listen in. It was like carefully not paying attention to a whispered conversation across the room. You could hear if you wanted, but it wasn't polite to eavesdrop.

And Elizabeth would have his balls served up on a platter if he dared intrude into her conversations like that.

"He says he's back to give a report on the sorties they ran with the Cheyenne," she said, standing up. "I should--"

She broke off as Teyla paused in the doorway, the Athosian man at her shoulder. "We apologise for being late," said the Black Widow, a little hurriedly. "The meeting went long."

"I'll just bet it did," Sumner murmured, not quite loud enough for the Athosians to hear.

"It took a little longer for me to leave, and then I had to find Toran..." The dark eyes regarded Elizabeth, taking in her haste and concern. "Are we still...?"

"I can't," Elizabeth said. "I'm sorry. A messenger back from the Cheyenne border front has just arrived - Prince Caldwell. He's been skirmishing against the Wraith, and I should..."

"Go," Teyla said immediately. She sounded sure, although John sensed that she was disappointed. "We will visit Atlantis city another day."

"Well, there's no reason you can't still go yourself." Elizabeth pointed out. "Atlantis city is very safe, and you had some shopping to do. And Marshall has to go into town in any case."

The glance Teyla gave Sumner was polite but wary, and John stepped forward. "I’d be happy to escort you, if you wish. Elizabeth won’t need me if she's going to speak with Caldwell."

John felt the look Elizabeth gave him, but gave no sign that he was anything but completely serious. And he was; he'd be more than happy to escort Teyla into town and show her around the shops if she wanted that. That he got a little dig in at Elizabeth's past relationship with Caldwell was just a bonus.

"I..." The look Teyla gave him was long and measuring. Thoughtful and a little wary, but without fear.

Then Arungen tried to make the decision for her.

"We can go some other time," he said curtly with a slight shake of his head. "It's no trouble."

Teyla frowned. "If Prince Sumner and Prince Sheppard are already going into town, then we will accompany them. If they also wish to put off the trip..."

"Then we're going," John said. He didn't let himself think about the rush of triumph that had coursed through him in that moment. "If your escort doesn't wish to come, we’ll manage.”

*Won't you just?*

He ignored Sumner's mocking comment - on a spear thread too dark for Arungen to hear, and instead focused on the witch whose dark eyes studied him as a psychic conversation took place between her and her escort. Unlike Elizabeth's conversation with Caldwell, this one was so finely-directed that John would have had to strain to eavesdrop.

"Prince Sheppard's escort will be fine." She looked at Elizabeth in the way that witches did when they were being both serious and teasing, "Although you owe me a visit to the Sea Gardens."

"I do," Elizabeth agreed, with the same almost-twinkle. "Enjoy yourself. I'll see you at dinner."

\--

They made an odd group walking through the streets of Atlantis city, Arungen walking beside Teyla as though his presence might protect her from anything John might think to try.

It made things a little uncomfortable as John pointed out the various shops or places of interest to Teyla, and her escort jostled her arm.

Sumner, of course, walked ahead as though they weren't any of his business, and when they paused at the first shop - a place selling textiles, cloths, and fine yarns, went only so far as to tell John, *I'll see you back at the landing web in three hours.*

It was no skin off John's back.

Since Elizabeth’s news of Lady Melia’s decision to go into the Twisted Kingdom, he’d found himself watching Lady Emmagan very carefully. He wasn’t in one of Lady Melia’s First or Second Circles, but he was in Elizabeth’s unofficial First Circle, and that linked him to whatever was going on in the highest eschelons of Atlantis court.

Which meant that the future of Atlantis court might lie in the Hourglass skill of the witch who was presently drifting through the shelves of a shop looking for things for her friends back home.

The thread of hunger still wound itself about him when he looked at her, when he touched her. She seemed so careful and self-contained on the outside, polite and careful. Still, there’d been times over the last few days when she’d relaxed enough to show the witch behind the Black Widow. And moments when John was sure he’d seen her unguarded - in the midst of sparring, with a ferocity and passion that John knew would match his own when fully roused.

He followed Teyla in and out of several shops, watching her look through the shelves. A fine woollen shawl for Charin, a small wooden toy for the son of a friend, small decorative items that looked like nothing more than trinkets.

“You know Jinto’s just going to pull it down and break it within a year,” said Arungen as she paid for a glazed pottery bowl.

"I know nothing of the sort," Teyla said with the firmness of someone trying to believe something against their will.

John noted the pattern of cracks in the bottom - a fairly stunning feature, and figured the bowl might get broken, but it would take to being fixed pretty well.

"Are we done yet?" Arungen asked as they came out to stand on the sidewalk.

John bit back a chuckle as Teyla mimed outrage. "If you want a break, there's a coffee shop just across the street. It's reasonably price and you can sit and stretch your legs. Lady Emmagan and I can keep going."

For a moment, he thought Arungen would insist that he was fine and didn't need a break after all. Then Teyla shook her head, and he seemed to both sag and pull himself together. "Thank you, Prince Sheppard."

John felt a touch of amused pity for the other male as he headed for the coffee shop with visible relief - obviously he'd never been shopping with a witch before.

"So," he said to Teyla, "what else were you looking for?"

She glanced up at him, curious. "You do not wish to stop for a break, too?"

"I've been shopping with Elizabeth before. And Jeannie McKay - Rodney's sister."

Actually, Jeannie was probably more like Teyla in her shopping habits. Her family didn't usually come into town, so when she went shopping, she _went shopping_.

Teyla laughed, then. "I find myself most curious; is Jeannie anything like her brother?"

"No. Well, not exactly."

"I imagine it would be difficult to find someone else like Rodney," she observed.

"For which we thank the Darkness," John said fervently.

Dark eyes fixed him as they walked on down the street. "Are you not friends?"

"Yes. But one of Rodney is more than enough. Jeannie's got the same drive when she applies it, but she's much easier to get along with."

"I see."

"You don't have any friends in Athos who are easier to get along with in small amounts?"

When she didn't answer immediately, he thought maybe he'd overstepped. But after a moment she huffed a little. "One does not always have the choice in a village the way one does in a court."

"Well, even in court there are a lot of the same people," John said. "Sometimes it would be nice to see them less."

"Rodney?"

"I was thinking Sumner, actually."

"Ah." There were a lot of undertones in that one syllable, and John nearly asked what she meant by that. Wisdom born of experience reined in his question. Asking would only get him in trouble.

"So," he said as they wended their way in and out of the people around them on the streets, "what else were you looking for while you're in the city?"

Teyla paused by a chocolatier, eyeing the handful of sample wares that had been laid out in the window, then turned away with an expression of resolution on her face. "Books," she said firmly.

"Not chocolates?"

"No," she smiled. "Tempting though they might be."

"Maybe later?"

Her laugh pealed out. "I do not think so, Prince Sheppard!"

"You know, you can call me John when we're outside the court."

"I can," she agreed, but without giving any indication of whether or not she intended to do so. John sighed and offered her his arm.

The book merchant he had in mind knew him by sight - most of the merchants frequented by Elizabeth did. "Prince Sheppard! Lady Elizabeth isn't with you today? We have new books in!"

"Sorry, Hamblyn. She had something else to attend to." John indicated Teyla who was already browsing the shelves by the door, her expression wondering and a little awed. "This is Lady Teyla Emmagan of Athos, guest of the court.”

“Any guests of Atlantis court are welcome here,” said Hamblyn cheerfully as he came out from behind the counter to bow. His eyes widened slightly as he caught her psychic scent, but it was only a moment and Teyla was too occupied to notice, even if John did. John frowned to let the shopkeeper know that he was expected to be polite at the least, and Hamblyn hastened to be charming. “You have an eye for the novels, Lady Emmagan?”

“Yes, you seem to have quite a collection,” she said, glancing up from the book she'd picked up.

"You'll not find anything more extensive in the Territory. We have books from Atlantis as well as many other Territories. What's your pleasure?"

"I... Do you have the next book in the _Silence_ series?"

"Of course! It's quite a favourite with the ladies. Right this way."

John followed them down through the shelves, grimacing at the extent of the collection. Reading wasn't one of his pleasures - something to do when there was nothing else to do, but not an activity of which he was particularly fond.

"Do you read much?"

She glanced over her shoulder. "A little. When I wish to relax, or in bed before I go to sleep." Looking at the line of her jaw and throat silhouetted against the window at the end of the aisle, John could think of better ways to relax her in bed. But if his blood fired up at the thought, he kept desire reined in. "Elizabeth likes romances," he offered. "And there's a library at the estate."

"So I'd heard. But I have not yet had time to explore."

"Tomorrow, then? After..." Abruptly, John stopped, realising this went into the realm of what Lady Melia had asked her to do. A slight flush tinged his skin, but she wasn't looking at him and Hamblyn was studying the shelves and probably listening for all he was worth.

"Perhaps," she said, nonchalantly, as though he hadn't been about to betray court privacy. "You do not read much yourself, though."

"I might be a great reader."

"Except that if you were, you would be off looking at your own interests," she countered. "Unless you share Lady Elizabeth's taste for romances?"

"Me? No. Not my kind of book."

"Prince Sheppard has a taste for war-history," said Hamblyn with a sly glance at John. "When he has a taste for reading at all. But perhaps you will succeed in piquing his interest further where others have failed?"

John’s eyes narrowed at the double-entendre, but Teyla only laugh, a delighted peal of amusement that suggested she had caught the surface meaning but not the innuendo Hamblyn intended. "I am only here in court for a few days. Hardly enough time to change Prince Sheppard's mind on such a matter."

Hamblyn’s smirk was aimed at John. "Perhaps, and perhaps not. And here we have the _Silence_ series. I've ordered in the newest one - the publisher has been delayed - but it's not yet here."

Her fingers danced along the spines of the books, growing excitement in eyes and lips. "We do not yet have many of these in my village. I did not know this one was even out!"

As Teyla flipped through the pages of the novels, Hamblyn grew positively beatific as he sensed a sale - perhaps several, and his conversation grew animated as he tried to lead her into buying other books. For the most part, she seemed interested in being drawn around the shop, not even looking back to see where John was.

John trailed behind them, glancing briefly at the shelves here and there, but mostly watching her as she sifted through books and authors, pages and plots, and sighed a few times before putting a book back on the shelf.

She took nearly half an hour to make a selection, and John took the opportunity to follow her, almost unnoticed.

Without the court watching her she seemed suddenly younger, more carefree. When she didn't have to project calm authority or watch against the barbed comments of the aristos at court, Teyla Emmagan seemed less like a Black Widow and more like any other young witch.

And John let himself be charmed by the woman who emerged.

She laughed at Hamblyn's sallies, listened to his stories of the Blood who'd come into his stores looking for books, discussed plots and characters with him, and refused to answer any lures the shopkeeper put out as to why a Black Widow would be called to Atlantis court.

She glanced at John once or twice when she noticed him on the edge of her vision, but otherwise seemed to forget he was there at all. And, as he had that first evening, John found himself both relieved and stung.

When she wasn’t aware of him, she wasn't on her guard; but when she realised he was there, her whole posture tensed, subtly.

John considered that as they began to make their way back to the counter.

She didn’t fear him - not really. If she did, she would never relax in his presence. But he still seemed to unnerve her, and he didn’t know why.

Two days ago when they'd met, yes, he’d been a strange Warlord Prince. John could understand a village witch’s concerns about a male who could become a brutal killer if roused - he didn’t like it, but he’d learned to live with such reactions from Blood who weren’t used to his caste. But since then he’d been friendly, careful when dealing with her. Yes, he’d been interested in warming her bed - and was still interested - but he’d made it clear she was under no obligations to accept him.

Yet Teyla could forget about him enough for John to move behind her as she browsed through the pages of a novel, but when she remembered he was there, she shifted enough so he was in the corner of her eye.

When Teyla finally put her book choices down on the counter for Hamblyn to tally up, there were nearly enough books to supply a library. Not just novels, either - what seemed to be a picture book, a book of spells, and one that seemed to be about Blood history.

A lot of reading for one witch. Even before bedtime.

The total made her blink, and Hamblyn's brows lifted at her pause, his expression growing guarded.

"I'll cover it," John said, and watched as a tide of dusky pink mantled beneath the tan of her skin.

"No," she said sharply, and suddenly she was all stiff propriety again. "I apologise. I did not expect..." She put one of the novels to the side. "Take this one out of the total, please."

The new total was more acceptable, although the flush lingered at the nape of her neck, beneath the wisping twist of her hair as she paid in silver marks.

"You'll just have to come back and get it," said Hamblyn with a shopkeeper's smile.

Teyla smiled back as she vanished the books, although it wasn't the easy eagerness of before, but a careful reserve.

"Actually," John said, putting his hand on the book before Hamblyn could take it to put it back on the shelf, "I think I'll buy this one myself."

"That is not necessary. I do not want..."

"Maybe I'm not buying it for you." John interrupted, calling in his wallet and handing over the requisite marks. His credit was good at Hamblyn’s shop, but he wasn’t going to embarrass her like that, and if Hamblyn lifted one brow at the payment, he had the wit not to comment on it.

"Then who are you buying it for?"

"Me."

"But you do not read novels!"

"No," he said, tucking a hand under her elbow the better to gently escort her out of the shop with a nod for the shopkeeper. "I said I don't share Elizabeth's taste in romances, not that I don't read novels."

He could feel the snap of her temper as they stepped out onto the sidewalk - a tang to the air. She turned to face him, brows lowered.

"Prince Sheppard."

"Lady Emmagan."

"Tell me you did not buy that book for me."

"I didn't buy that book for you."

Her eyes narrowed. "You are lying."

“Yes, I am.” John’s temper flared, brief and fierce. “Look, you’re only in Atlantis for a few days - you wanted the book, and I can afford it!”

“I do not want to be beholden--“

“You don’t have to be!” Was there no end to the woman’s stubbornness? “It’s a gift.”

“Which I cannot accept--“

“Why not?” That seemed to stump her. Teyla hesitated and John called in the book and held it out. “Look, you can accept it as a gift, or you can repay me back when you have the money. I’d rather you took it as a gift, though.”

She looked from the book to him, her psychic scent tinged with wariness. “Why?”

 _Because, if nothing else, when you read that book, you’ll think of me._ John shrugged, unwilling to put such a thought into words; Carson’s warning about Teyla being a village girl rung in his ears. “Because I’d prefer to give it as a gift.”

It seemed like a long moment before Teyla sighed. She took the book from his hand and vanished it. “My father used to tell me to work with a stubborn male, not against him.”

Her expression dared him to react at her bluntness, but John felt amusement bloom, bright and warm against his breastbone. “You’re welcome,” he said dryly, offering her his arm. “Now, let’s go fetch your escort, and we’ll have time for a cup of coffee before we have to go back.”

She hesitated before placing her hand over his, but when her fingers settled over his knuckles, John fought back a grin.

He didn’t make a point of the fact that she hadn’t thanked him for the book. That she’d taken it was the bigger part of the struggle. Gratefulness might follow, or it might not.

John would have preferred to be thanked, but he figured with this witch, he’d better take what victories she gave him.

\--

Teyla felt unnerved on the walk back through the city to the Landing Web.

Ever since she had made the mistake of accepting the book Prince Sheppard had purchased, she had felt uneasy, her thoughts scattered.

They had returned to the coffee shop and collected Toran, who was reading through one of the many well-thumbed copies resting along the book ledges, available for patrons to browse while they drank their coffee or ate their pastries.

She had purchased a tea, while Prince Sheppard had purchased a coffee and a pastry. He’d offered her half his pastry, and although her stomach grumbled faintly, Teyla had refused.

She’d already accepted more from Prince Sheppard than she should.

Then they and Toran had set out from the coffee shop, heading back to the gardens where the Landing Web was contained. And Prince Sheppard had offered her his hand for escort before Toran was out the door.

“And we’re in good time to meet Sumner back at the Landing Web,” he said as they started along the street.

“It is important to be on time with Prince Sumner?”

“No,” said Prince Sheppard. “But it does keep him from making snide comments.”

“I did not think you cared what Prince Sumner thought of you.”

He glanced at her sharply. “I don’t. But it’s easier on Elizabeth when she doesn’t have to arbitrate our sniping.”

The consideration of a Warlord Prince for his Queen. Like the consideration of a Warlord Prince for a visiting Black Widow?

That he was trying to charm his way into her bed was clear enough - and yet the gift had been given without obligation. If he had made any attempt to bargain something from Teyla in exchange for the book - a kiss, perhaps - then she would have refused. If she had thought that he expected anything in return, she would have refused. But he had been angry that she wouldn’t take it - ‘as a gift’ he had said, and she had sensed no seduction in his psychic scent - only the pulsing anger.

“I imagine that settling the conflict between two Warlord Princes is not a comfortable task.”

Prince Sheppard snorted. “Even for a Queen - or so Elizabeth says.”

“You have known her a long time?”

“All my life.”

And his life was in her service. That much had been obvious the moment Teyla had met Elizabeth and the males who would someday form her Blood Triangle.

What would it be like to put her life and trust in a male like Prince Sheppard? To have that strength, that passion at her command? Of course, she was a Black Widow, not a Queen, and there was not a male in Athos who would not lay down his life for Teyla if she asked.

Then again, there was not a male in Athos for whom Teyla had felt this pit in her belly. She knew it for desire, and yet...

Her history was fraught. She had avoided the interest of males and any in Athos who might have made overtures kept their distance. Outside Athos, the males were wary of her - a Black Widow and dark-Jewelled to boot - and so there was no interest there.

And John Sheppard’s past and future was tied up in Atlantis court. When Lady Elizabeth took up the ruling of Atlantis Territory, he would serve in her court, a powerful and influential Warlord Prince: Consort or perhaps Master of the Guard. And Teyla would go back to Athos village, nothing more than a Black Widow who plied her skills on the edge of the Territory, far from the notice of Queens or courts.

A giggle drew her eyes from her absent contemplation of the city. Two witches were walking towards them on the footpath, heading in the opposite direction. Their clothing and jewellery declared that they were aristo, and their eyes summed up Teyla’s companions.

Toran they dismissed at a glance before sliding to Prince Sheppard. Then, as though drawn, their gazes flickered to Teyla. One leaned in to the other, murmuring something at which they both laughed as they passed by.

Her cheeks burned, but she did not lower her gaze as the witches went past them. Prince Sheppard seemed not to have noticed, his gaze drifting beyond them, over to the lush gardens that kept the Landing Web that would take them out to Lady Melia’s estate.

And why should he notice? Teyla asked herself as they entered the gardens. He was a Warlord Prince of Atlantis court, and Teyla was a village witch. The things that concerned her were not even vaguely those which would bother him.

They were realms apart in background and upbringing.

Prince Sheppard might be interested in warming her bed for a night or two, but Teyla knew that anything that was between them could only be temporary. Even if she had contemplated allowing a man to share her bed - something she had been considering of late - it would be unwise to choose an aristo Warlord Prince from the court of Atlantis Territory.

Ahead of them in the garden, Prince Sumner was waiting, frowning as he stood by the small open-fronted buildings that were the entryway into the main park with its rolling lawns and lush gardens, looking down at the table and benches set under the shelter’s roof.

It was a picturesque scene, but not apparently one that suited Prince Sheppard - or Prince Sumner, judging by the frown.

“Where are the guards?”

“They weren’t here when I arrived.”

“We’re not late.”

“I never said you were.”

Teyla let go of Prince Sheppard’s hand to drift further into the garden, drawn by the arch of the arbor that invited one into the hedged garden with its carefully-arranged chaos of greenery and leafery and blossom. Toran came alongside her, smiling.

“I can see why even Lady Weir would not wish to arbitrate between them,” he murmured, then glanced around at the lush greenery. “I should keep an eye on you, lest we lose you in the gardens, shouldn’t I?”

Her mouth tilted at the reference to her habit of wandering away from her escort in public parks and gardens. “I can always come back later to look at them.”

The psychic scents around them shifted. There was a movement in the corner of her eye.

A sight-shield dropped from around five Wraith warriors.

The leader bared pale, pointed fangs and lunged.

On instinct, Teyla shielded with the Grey. But the shields were rushed and imperfect, and as she brought them up she knew they wouldn’t hold against the blow.

Toran shoved her behind him. The Wraith’s blade took him in the chest.

“Toran!”

Scarlet spilled from his breast as the Wraith yanked the blade out, but Teyla had no time to do more than touch his thoughts as his eyes glazed and his life ebbed out.

*’m sorry, Teyla...*

Hot blood splashed her hands, and she flinched as though scalded. But her weapon was in her hand before she thought about it, and as the Wraith blade whistled through the air for her head, she stabbed up. Her Grey-assisted thrust punched through his shields, through his breastplate and into his chest, and she twisted it and watched him scream in pain with a cold distance that allowed no emotion to purchase her.

Then she yanked the blade from his chest and slashed it across his throat, even as she reached out and finished the kill with her psychic strength, shattering his Jewels so he would become nothing more than a whisper in the Darkness.

Another Wraith was coming at her, and she turned to face it -then blinked as Prince Sheppard stepped in, his weapon rising to meet the other’s falling blade.

Jewelled strength clashed.

The ferocity of Prince Sheppard’s onslaught drove the Wraith back, but it rallied well and struck back, only to be blocked again by a Warlord Prince on the killing edge.

 _Two_ Warlord Princes on the killing edge.

Sumner intercepted another Wraith as it moved towards her. His teeth were bared and the cords of his throat stood out as blade met blade. Whatever he thought of her, his nature was that of a fighter, of a warrior, of a Warlord Prince, and he would defend to his dying breath.

But he was just one and there were another two still coming.

Teyla stepped over Toran and the dead Wraith, going to meet them on clean ground.

No time to grieve, no time to breathe, no time to think. There was barely time to reinforce and layer her shields as Kamus had taught her all those years ago, then the first was upon her.

His hair was pale - a long blond braid off which the late afternoon light glowed. Teyla caught her breath, feeling a sharp stab in her breast. It was late afternoon rather than twilight, and open park not deep forest, and these were Wraith, not human males. But moonlight had gleamed off pale hair, and the sight-shield had dropped just this fast.

 _She was falling through darkness, pain and cold and cruelty harrowing her with every panting breath, with the thunder of her heartbeat all around her..._

Teyla lifted her weapon to meet his downward stroke.

The clash of blades slammed her back into the present.

She was not seventeen anymore. She had survived that night and made the Offering. She was not alone.

And she would not be ruled by that fear.

Cold anger swirled within her, and she sipped at the fury to give her blows power. The Wraith male’s sneer turned to alarm as she drove him back, but he rallied well and managed to hold her off.

Around her, the psychic scents of the Atlantis males were sharp and clear in the cooling afternoon: Prince Sheppard’s burning fury, Prince Sumner’s grim determination. The Wraith were a muddier scent - there, but not individual as they should have been, each one distinct.

 _Disguised,_ Teyla thought as she slashed at her opponent’s knuckles. A scarlet line of bloody beads welled up where blade met skin and he snarled and drew back. _Why are they...?_

The question faded as she felt the prickle of a spell being cast.

She met the gaze of the Wraith she fought and saw his shoulders straighten, as though he’d suddenly been renewed. Then he came back at her with fresh intensity.

Her breath came short in her throat as she found herself on the defensive.

He got some blows through her defenses, but her Gray shields were holding. They stung but didn’t injure her. However, a glance at Prince Sheppard and Prince Sumner showed them both struggling. Their shields were strong but the strain on their Jewels was significant - even for Prince Sheppard who wore the Sapphire.

She failed to deflect a blow and felt the jolt against her shoulder and her shields. Drawing on her Jewel for strength, she managed to block the next, even as she reached out on a psychic thread.

*Open to me and I will shield you!*

It was a reckless offer.

At the time, Teyla only thought of giving them an extra layer of protection, not of the difficulty and danger of undertaking to touch their minds and layer their shields with her own in the middle of a fight.

At the time, she did not consider what it meant to make such an offer to Warlord Princes.

At the time, she did not consider what it meant that her offer was accepted.

*All right.*

Prince Sheppard’s barriers came down for just a moment - a split second that Teyla might have missed had she not been watching for it. _There._ She slid the strength of her Grey Jewel beneath his Sapphire shields, and brushed the edge of the lightning storm that was a Warlord Prince at the killing edge of fury.

Teyla shivered back from that storm - the passion and violence that lay masked beneath Prince Sheppard’s so-mild exterior - and reached out to Prince Sumner.

*I’m busy!* The Prince was focused on his opponent, his intensity growing as the Wraith retreated.

Teyla blocked another blow, deflected yet another, then twisted away from her opponent, stepping back to give herself a moment’s breathing space. With a frown, she realised that there was a fourth Wraith - and that he had stood apart from the others during the fight, watching.

Waiting, she thought. But for what?

Leaves stirred on the ground only a little way away, a soft rustle that swiftly picked up in intensity. And Teyla felt the stirring twitch of a spell pulling together.

*Prince Sumner!* She tried to reach Sumner again, but he was ignoring her, his brown furrowed with a concentration that simply wasn’t sufficient as the Wraith thrust, parried, deflected, stabbed...

It was a heart thrust. Teyla knew that, even before the Warlord Prince collapsed and the Wraith turned to look at her, his teeth bared in a brutal grin.

She barely blocked the next attack from her own opponent. And felt the Wraith spell gaining momentum, power.

*Sheppard!*

He heard her, his mind still linked with hers, Sapphire strength woven into her own Gray. And that brutal temper quivered along the connection between them. *Teyla?*

*You must trust me.*

He barely hesitated. *My life is yours.*

Submission to her will, immediate and total. The ultimate gesture of trust from a Blood male to a witch. Teyla caught her breath, startled by the degree of trust he placed in her.

Then the Wraith spell broke.

It came as a psychic storm, spreading out from the fourth Wraith like witchfire, a blast of psychic power that should have swept away everything ahead of it that wasn’t Wraith. The spell had been designed to drain her power, to break her Jewels, and to destroy her mind. Psychic hooks stabbed into her, like long thin needles into her head. She felt Prince Sheppard’s fury, the instinct that rose up to fight what was destroying them both.

If he fought, then he would be torn apart - they both would, linked as they were, her mind in his.

Teyla ran the palm of her hand along her blade, drawing blood as she closed her fist around the Grey Jewel at her throat.

 _And the Blood shall sing to the Blood._

*Trust me,* she said, mind to mind, feeling her own spell gathering power, aided by her blood and their combined Jewelled strength. Sheppard tensed, and Teyla saw the conflict there in his nature - the need to fight, stamped on his personality like a brand on his soul - and knew that asking wasn’t enough. *Please, Prince!*

And as he ceded control to her, the spell she’d cast rose up like a coiling whirlwind of power.

Teyla trembled as it poised, then crashed.

It set a circular shield around her, Prince Sheppard, and the Wraith, enclosing them wholly. It yanked the hooked tendrils of the Wraith spell from their minds and sucked in the power of the psychic storm. It swirled there for a tense, terrible moment before the spell spat the power out again - back out through those around her.

Prince Sheppard jerked as the wave washed over him, but he left his inner barriers open to her, trusting her, and it passed through without touching him. Blood to Blood, her mind and Jewels sheltering his.

Not so the Wraith. They broke, their Jewels shattering as the gathered power swept through them. The storm of Jewelled strength ripped through their inner barriers, and snuffed out their minds like the villages Teyla had seen left smoking in the wake of a Wraith raid.

And it swept out towards the city of Atlantis and the unwitting people there only to meet the barrier of Teyla’s power, confining it back.

Now the psychic storm rebounded, returning to its source - Teyla. She felt the pressure of it building against her inner shields, against her Jewels, against her physical body as she struggled to hold the power in check, to keep it from flooding her inner web and leaving her broken, to keep from being torn apart by the Jewelled strength now rushing back into her.

Teyla felt Prince Sheppard there in her mind, sword arm and shield as was a Warlord Prince’s nature. She felt his attempts to protect her from the worst of the rebounding power.

It wasn’t enough.

Scraping, clawing, groping for her shields, Teyla felt the pressure batter her mind and body like driftwood in a churning river.

And then...then it drained away.

There was ground beneath her shoulder, under her head. There were arms coming around her. There were voices above her head, shouts of alarm and cries of shock. There was Prince Sheppard’s face, swimming around in a blurry light, his eyes dark and green, his temper singing in the air, sharp as a honed blade.

Then there was darkness.

\--

John quivered as they stepped off the Landing Web at Atlantis court.

There were only about a dozen people waiting for them, but it was still too many psychic scents, too many males, and John was still too close to the killing edge.

Prince Jorthyn stepped forward and conversations died as John’s temper rose. It wasn’t that the other male was a threat to Teyla or him. But his instincts were driving him after the fight against the Wraith, and the approach of another Warlord Prince was more than he could take.

“John.” Elizabeth stepped forward. “How is she?”

In his arms, Teyla shifted, only just beginning to wake.

“The Healer in the city pronounced her physically healthy - just resting.”

Elizabeth nodded. “We’ll get her to her rooms, then, and I’ll call Kate.” She glanced at Jorthyn. “I can take it from here, Prince.”

“I’ll need to know what happened. A member of the court is dead. And a guest.”

“I think that can wait. First, Lady Emmagan needs to be seen to by a Healer.” Her expression was calm and cool, but John could feel the grief in her. Whatever he’d thought of Sumner, the other male had belonged to Elizabeth, too. They might have been rivals for dominance in her circle, but he’d respected the other Warlord Prince.

“I need to know if there’s a danger to the Queen.”

John nearly snarled, but Jorthyn was the Master of the Guard, and the protection of Lady Melia and Atlantis Court with her was his concern. Someday, when Elizabeth became Queen, it might be John’s concern, too.

So he answered. “No.”

After that, Jorthyn stepped back, taking most of the others with him. Most, but not all. Carson was there, keeping his distance, although John sensed that the Prince was talking to Elizabeth on a psychic thread. And Caldwell was there, too, also keeping his distance.

Elizabeth led them towards the house , trailing a wary cloud of courtiers.

They were met by Kate at the entrance to the gardens, and a Rose-coloured sphere came to hover over Teyla’s face.

Dark eyes opened.

One moment, she curled, warm in his arms, the next, she’d shoved John away and was crouched with a bladed weapon in her hand, her back against the garden hedge.

“Lady--” John had taken a step forward, instinctively putting himself between her and Elizabeth and Kate. His chest squeezed and his vision hovered on the red edge. He wouldn’t hurt her if he could help it, but she couldn’t be allowed to hurt his Queen either.

Not that he thought she would. Her stance was defensive, as though she expected an attack. There was a haze over her eyes. From the expression on her face, John didn’t think she was seeing him, or Elizabeth, or the garden in Atlantis Court at all.

Was she still caught up in the fight against the Wraith?

“Teyla.” Elizabeth said, and her voice held threads of something John couldn’t identify. A calming spell? “Do you know where you are?”

John watched as the haze dropped from her eyes. “Elizabeth?” She looked down at the weapon on her hand, and her expression turned grim. She vanished the weapon and stood up straight. “Lady Weir, I regret... Prince Sumner... Toran...”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Not now, Teyla. We’ll get you to your rooms so you can lie down, and then we’ll talk.” She nodded at Kate, who moved in beside Teyla and began talking with her as though nothing had happened. After a moment, the two women moved off towards the house.

*She’s shaken.* Elizabeth touched John’s arm as they stood there. *You?*

*Sumner’s dead. And her escort.* John’s hands closed into fists, but his Queen’s caress was like a balm against his raw nerves. *It was the Wraith.*

*We got the report from Lord Henri after you left the town’s Landing Web.* Elizabeth took a deep breath and her eyes met his. “They said Teyla did something...”

“The Wraith were after her.” John said and didn’t realise he’d known it until it was spoken. A heartbeat later, he headed for the house, his temper shifting towards the killing edge as he reviewed his memories of the fight. “We were just in the way.”

It seemed clear to him now, as he recalled the start of the Wraith attack.

“Will they come here?”

John glanced at Elizabeth, but if her expression was concerned, she wasn’t afraid. Pride stirred. “No. We’re too well guarded.”

“I should talk with Teyla, then.” They reached the house and she touched his arm again, turning him towards her. “Marshall... Was it...?”

“It was fast. He fought to the end.”

She nodded, although grief gleamed in her eyes before she looked away. “Give your report to Jorthyn, John. He should know about the Wraith. You’ll be okay?”

It wasn’t his friend speaking now but his Queen, and she wasn’t talking about his physical health but his state of mind. John took a deep breath and nodded. “You?”

“I’ll be fine.” She’d grieve in private, rather than out here for everyone to see. “Go and give your report, then come to see Teyla.”

He hesitated, wanting to go after Teyla, but Elizabeth’s shake of the head halted him. She’d given him a directive; he’d follow it. To serve, to protect, and to obey were the three immutable laws of Blood males.

He’d served and protected Teyla today, now he’d obey his Queen.

\--

“Let me get this straight,” Jorthyn said over the murmur of conversation making the rounds of the armoury after John’s report. “The Black Widow--”

“Lady Teyla,” John said, weathering Hodar’s hard look and Aethar’s arched brow.

“The Black Widow,” Jorthyn continued, “was attacked and, in repelling the attackers, got both her escort and a member of this court killed?”

“He said the Athosian died protecting her,” Aethar said.

All three members of Lady Melia’s Blood Triangle were present, as were many of the First Circle males. He’d seen Elizabeth’s father when he’d first entered the room, and received a brief, approving nod of the head. And more than a few of John’s own generation were here, too; come to find out what had happened with Sumner.

The news of the attack had been reported by the Atlantis city guards to Jorthyn in his capacity as the Master of the Guard in Lady Melia’s court. The fact that two members of the court and two guests had been involved had also required that courtesy.

John didn’t know what had been said exactly, but he could imagine the whispers.

It wasn’t quite a relief to see Caldwell leaning against the wall, the long face careful and canny as he listened, but the older Warlord Prince was keeping the Warlords like Bates, Markham and Griffin in check, at least. They were angry and grieving at Sumner’s death - and John had a feeling they blamed Teyla for their friend’s death.

“Arungen died protecting her,” John said. Until this afternoon, the young escort had been more of a hindrance to John’s interest in Teyla than an ally. “He took that first blow, with only light-Jewelled defenses and no warrior training.”

“And Prince Sumner?”

“Prince Sumner died being a stiff-necked prick.” John felt the wave of anger that touched him, swiftly controlled. Judging by the heads that turned towards the younger males, he wasn’t the only one to feel it.

“Explain.”

“Lady Emmagan offered us shields during the fight against the Wraith. Sumner refused them.” John remembered that moment of decision, the decision to trust Teyla. Sumner had made a different choice and hadn’t survived the battle. “He died.”

“When the Black Widow cast her spell.”

“A spell that burst the heads of all the Wraith,” said Aethar, his voice very quiet.

“Sumner was dead before she cast the spell. And her spell countered the one that was supposed to break our Jewels. You weren’t there. The Lady saved my life.”

His head was throbbing with all the talk going round and round. He didn’t know what was being suggested, but it sounded like Jorthyn and Aethar wanted to paint Teyla as either a liability to the court or actively dangerous.

“But failed to save the life of another member of this court or that of her own escort.” Lord Aethar turned towards Hodar. “If you’d only speak with her...”

Prince Hodar shook his head. “So this has nothing to do with Lady Teyla, then?”

It took John a confused moment to realise the ‘her’ that Aethar wanted Hodar to speak with wasn’t Teyla but Lady Melia.

“You know perfectly well--” Aethar snapped off the words as though he’d just realised how much he’d said.

“Yes,” said Hodar. “I do.”

That was all he said, but there was the sense of communication being made along a psychic thread. John felt it - could have overheard it if he’d chosen - but decided it wasn’t his business.

“Your objection is noted, Prince Aethar,” said a new voice from the door. Heads turned and the males drew back as Lady Melia walked into the room. “Prince Sheppard.”

“Lady.”

“You did well out there, today.”

It was the first time someone had said that during this whole report. “Thank you, Lady. So did Lady Teyla.”

“I know. And she has my gratefulness for what she did - both in protecting a member of my court and in stopping the Wraith from getting out into Atlantis city.”

Lady Melia’s smile faded as she turned to her Blood Triangle and she seemed to steel herself.

“Melia...”

“You have the right to protest my decisions,” she said, interrupting Aethar’s protest, “but they are still my decisions, made as the Queen of Atlantis Territory, and with the Territory’s interests at stake.”

“She’s an untried Black Widow, Melia. She doesn’t know what she’s doing!”

“Would you say that, Prince Sheppard?”

He thought of the blade that had appeared in her hands, even as Arungen fell, how it had slid into the Wraith as though it was water. He thought of the witch who had faced him in the sparring yards that first morning, exasperated by his coddling. He thought of the woman he had played chess against - using all her pieces to the best of their abilities. He thought of the psychic storm that had pulsed through him when the Wraith’s spell broke, of the terrifying pressure of all that power, gathered in and channelled out again, of the struggle he’d felt in Teyla Emmagan as she fought to keep it from breaking her.

They hadn’t been there, seen what John had seen, felt what John had felt - the cold fury, the storm of power, the fierce protectiveness.

Teyla had turned up to warrior training the first morning she was in Atlantis court, and the males had dismissed her and underestimated her - John included.

After that morning, after this afternoon, he’d never make that mistake again.

“I don’t know what you’re asking of her, Lady,” he said, realising Lady Melia was waiting for his answer. “But she’s not untried or weak, and she knows her Craft. And she’ll protect you whatever the cost to herself.”

“That’s what I thought.” Melia nodded, her eyes solemn and steady on John, although she was speaking to the room. “As I will protect this Territory, whatever the cost to myself.”

\--

Caldwell caught up with him on the way to Teyla’s rooms. “You held up well.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t get much choice, did I?” John flashed a sideways glance at the other Warlord Prince. He wanted to ask what the other male was doing, but it seemed obvious. John was going to see Teyla, and Elizabeth was with Teyla. Caldwell was going to see Elizabeth - as he usually did when he was in court or at the Weir Estate. “How were things at the border?”

“Busy. There’s a lot of movement on the southern front again. The Wraith are planning something.”

“Another attack?”

“Hard to tell. They should be moving in fighters but our scouts haven’t seen any signs of increased numbers. They might be moving under sight shield but that’s a pretty heavy waste of Jewel strength.” Caldwell glanced sideways at him. “Thinking about coming out?”

“Maybe.” Something in John wanted to - to get away from the court and its politics. But Elizabeth was here and his duty was to watch her back. Who else was he going to trust to it? Rodney? Carson? He might have trusted Sumner, but he hadn’t liked the man. And now the other Warlord Prince was dead, John was the one in the best position to protect his Queen. Although some of that depended on Caldwell. “You’re going back?”

“If Elizabeth doesn’t need me.” They stepped into the quiet of the guest corridor, where Teyla’s room was, and Caldwell stopped, waiting for John to turn and face him.

“What?”

“Sitrep for the court?”

They weren’t friends, exactly. Allies, perhaps. From John’s perspective, it helped that Caldwell didn’t play the subtle games of dominance that John had always found so aggravating when dealing with Sumner. From Caldwell’s perspective, it helped that John never made an issue of the fact that Caldwell was a minor aristo who had come to Elizabeth’s initial notice for his fighting prowess rather than his bloodlines.

“Elizabeth didn’t tell you?”

“She didn’t have the chance. I gave my report to Jorthyn, looked in on the Lady and had something to eat. Elizabeth mostly talked about the Black Widow.” Caldwell eyed him, the handsome, heavy face steady. “What’s she here for?”

“Lady Melia’s will.” When the other man frowned, John added, “If Elizabeth hasn’t told you, I’m not going to.”

Caldwell rolled his eyes. “The Warlords don’t trust her. Markham and Griffin think she’s uppity and needs putting in her place. Bates thinks she’s a threat. And I heard she took you down at training the other morning.”

“I underestimated her.”

“And you won’t do so again.” Caldwell nodded and glanced down the corridor. “Is she dangerous?”

Temper rose in him. “She killed one Wraith this afternoon unprepared, fought another to a standstill, and took him and the remaining three out by turning a Wraith spell on its head. What do you think, Caldwell?”

Now the other man’s mouth twitched in wry amusement. “I think I’ll stay out of your way when it comes to her, Sheppard.”

John glared as Caldwell headed down the corridor towards Teyla’s rooms, but followed after and caught up just at the door to the guest suite.

*Elizabeth?*

A moment later, the door opened on low voices, the scent of tea, and Elizabeth. “John, Steven. How did the report go?”

“They’re not happy,” Caldwell said. He didn’t make a move to enter the room and Elizabeth didn’t make any attempt to get out of the doorway. “Whatever the Lady has planned, her Triangle isn’t happy with it.”

“Not unexpected.” Elizabeth’s tone was very dry. “They are male.”

“I’m not even going to ask for clarification.”

“If you need to ask for clarification, then you’re in the wrong court, Steven.” Elizabeth turned to John. “She’s fine, John. A little shaken, perhaps, but it’s...stirred some old memories.”

“Can I see her?”

Elizabeth moved aside - just far enough for John to see where she sat in the couch, listening to something Kate was saying.

He wanted to speak with her, touch her, say something - like demanding what she thought she’d been doing by putting herself in danger with that counter-spell against the Wraith. Then Teyla looked up, as though only just noticing the door was open. Her gaze meshed with John’s, inscrutable dark eyes holding his for a long moment when the world contracted down to just the two of them.

A village witch? Perhaps. But not _just_ a village witch, but a Dark-Jewelled Black Widow capable of standing on a killing field and making it her own.

And Sweet Darkness, John wanted her.

That first night, desire had been easy. This hunger was something else.

It rose up in him like a wild beast, clawing at his insides to try to get out. He shivered as his stomach bottomed out, his mouth dry as though it was full of dust. His hands curled by his thighs and he took a step forward, the need to cross the distance between them and touch her like an ache in his palms.

Abruptly, his view of her was cut off, and John nearly snarled - then realised it was Elizabeth standing in his way.

Her eyes narrowed. She put a hand on his chest and propelled him out of the room. As the door closed behind her, the corridor suddenly seemed too full of shadows. A moment later, a witchlight blossomed into being above them. Her expression was grim - the sober and sobering expression that he’d only ever seen a handful of times in his life.

Each time he’d seen that look, it had scared the shit out of him.

This time, the only reason he wasn’t terrified was because of the hunger dragging through him like sharp-edged knives. And because the hand his Queen had against his chest was both a warning and a reassurance. But when she spoke her voice was ice.

“Rein it in, Prince. Rein it in _now_.”

It snarled within him, a Warlord Prince’s hunger, aching in every pore of his being. But stronger by far was the ingrained obedience to his Queen’s will. He fought down the hunger because his Queen asked him. But the tide of temper was rising within him, threatening to sweep everything else out of the way.

“I think I’ll head off and check on some of the Warlords,” said Caldwell, his voice calm and casual - as though John’s response and Elizabeth’s reaction had never happened. “I’ll see you at dinner, Lady, Prince.”

Even that much response from the other Warlord Prince was nearly too much for John. He held himself still, watching Elizabeth, grounding the volatility of his nature in his Queen.

His Queen waited until Caldwell was gone. “John. You need to calm down and step away from this.”

“Why? Because she’s just a village witch?”

“Because she’s not ready for your interest right now.”

“What do you mean?”

She looked away for a moment, then back up at him and her eyes were remote. “Leaving Athos wasn’t easy for Teyla in the first place. Coming into the court and realising what Lady Melia wanted her to do has only made things more complicated. And then there was the Wraith attack today, and her escort’s death...”

It wasn’t the whole truth. John could feel the secrets hiding behind her eyes. But whatever Elizabeth had discovered, she wasn’t comfortable with telling John. Not right now. So he went for the commonplace answer.

“You’re saying she’s got a lot to deal with.”

“And she doesn’t need you on top of it.”

“Are you saying I’m difficult?”

One arched brow lifted, leavening humour. “You’re a Warlord Prince, John.”

“Thanks.” But the teasing restored some of his balance. The hunger was still there, but he could manage it. He could think around it. “Has someone sent to Athos to tell them about...?”

“Lady Melia had a messenger sent off when the news arrived.” Elizabeth looked down and away. Regret tinged her psychic scent. “I’ll send to Marshall’s family myself.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“He was mine,” she said, simply. “It’s my responsibility.”

And John knew that she’d do the same for him or for Carson or for Rodney or any other Blood male who belonged to her. That was what it meant to serve a Queen.

“Will anyone be coming from Athos?”

“I don’t know. That will depend on the Athosians, I think. If not, she’ll have an escort back to her village from the court. And yes,” she added before he could ask, “I’ll ask Lady Melia to consider you in the escort if it comes to that. _If_ it does. Now go and clean up.”

“Will she be at dinner?”

“No. Kate and I will be having dinner privately. And after dinner... She needs to have an early night if she’ll be guiding Lady Melia tomorrow.” Elizabeth brushed the back of her fingers along John’s cheek. “Now _, go_!”

He wanted to see Teyla, touch her - drink in her scent if nothing else.

But his Queen stood in the way, and his life was in her service. He trusted her. He had to.

So John leaned into the touch of his Queen for a moment, letting her presence leash the hunger he felt for a village Black Widow of no other consequence.

Then he walked away.

\--

Teyla forced herself to relax as she faced Lady Melia in the workroom.

It was not easy.

It was not the simple workroom of an Athosian witch - worktop, table and chairs, but a large library-like room with shelves filled with books and intriguing looking items in glass and wood. A long wooden table ran down one side of the room and someone had arranged a sitting area with lounges on the other.

And it was not their surroundings which concerned Teyla so, nor even the Healers, Lady Elizabeth, or Prince Hodar who stayed to watch, but the price hanging between them - the death of a male serving in Lady Melia’s court.

“Before we start, we should get the matter of yesterday’s attack out of the way.”

 _Everything has a price._

She had failed to protect Prince Sumner - and Toran - yesterday in the gardens, and now she must pay the price of her inability.

It was said among the Blood that there was no law against killing, but every death had its cost.

The cost of a Warlord Prince serving in the court of a Territory Queen? Would be a hefty price indeed.

“Lady Melia--”

“Please. Lady Emmagan. I offer apologies for the death of your escort while visiting my city.”

“No apology is necessary...”

“You think not? As my guest, you should have been safe - and in the capital city of the Territory, accompanied by two Warlord Princes of my own court. As such, I wish to offer recompense for the loss of your escort.”

Over by the windows, Prince Hodar winced. Teyla saw the movement but did not look away from the Lady, nor give any sign that she had seen.

“I... I do not know what to say. I have not thought about...” Last night, she had been shaken by the attack, then distressed about Toran’s death, and troubled by what the attack meant. And the Lady had sent word to Athos, and perhaps soon one of her own people would come to escort her home... Teyla gripped her thoughts more tightly. “Your generosity is appreciated, Lady Melia, but if there is a price to be paid for Toran’s death, then surely it is more than matched in Prince Sumner’s death?”

“Yet you also defended against enemies who found their way to the heart of my capital city, slaughtered the guards on duty in the gardens, and would have killed you, your escort, and the males of my court before starting in on the city.” Lady Melia’s gaze was frank and direct. “Prince Sheppard tells me you stopped them, and he does not give praise lightly. It seems I owe you a debt of gratitude for preventing further bloodshed in my city.”

Teyla felt her cheeks grow warm, but held the Lady’s gaze. “I did what was needful, my Lady.” But it was becoming clear to her that Lady Melia was not willing to let this go without some form of reparation. “Let me think on it and I will give you my answer after this web is done.”

It appeared to satisfy Lady Melia, for she nodded. “Very well. Shall we begin?”

She held out her hands to Teyla, familiar with the process of letting down inner barriers to the mind. Having worked with Charin all those years, Lady Melia seemed to be no stranger to the workings of Black Widows, even if her court distrusted the caste.

Or perhaps, it was just that they distrusted Teyla.

Teyla cast out such thoughts before she took the Lady’s hands in her own - the long slender fingers smooth, without the roughness of Teyla’s work-worn hands.

She slipped inside the inner barriers, delicately touching on the Lady’s Jewel strength and the flavour of her mind, before retreating back out again.

Calling in a spell web set in a wooden frame, she laid it on the table between them. “This will keep our bodies anchored here while we travel in the Twisted Kingdom. For those unaccustomed to the Twisted Kingdom, it is safer this way.”

“What happens without it?”

Teyla met Elizabeth’s gaze. “One roams in the manner of those lost to the Twisted Kingdom. Without the binding spell to keep the body in one place, the physical form wanders as the mind does. And the web is imbued with spells of protection and health, for as long as we are gone.”

“You’ll be shielding it, of course,” Prince Hodar said, and the warning was cold and clear in his statement - sharp enough that Lady Melia’s gaze flickered towards him.

“Of course,” Teyla said, and called in her small silver knife.

The Jewel chip in the centre only required one drop of her blood and one drop of Lady Melia’s. She offered the Queen the knife first, and watched as the Lady stabbed her finger and squeezed out a single drop of blood onto the tiny Grey chip woven into the web.

Teyla felt the echoes of the blood as it resonated with her Jewel, as the spell activated. She took the knife from Lady Melia, and stabbed her own index finger for a drop of blood, and as it fell on the Jewel chip in the web, it sang in her like a summer’s day.

Her body felt heavy and lethargic, her thoughts lazy and somehow foreign to her. It took a moment before Teyla realised the strange sensation was due to Lady Melia’s mind being the dominant one in this dream-vision. She felt the Lady’s surprise, resonating through their mingled blood, and held out her hands to the Queen, palms down as she had been greeted that first day.

As palm touched palm, she closed her eyes and felt the Lady follow suit.

Then Teyla effected the mental twist that would take both of them into the realm the Blood called the Twisted Kingdom, and which the landens called madness.

\--

“Oh, for the love of the Darkness,” Rodney snapped as John turned at the door leading out to the gardens for the umpteenth time that afternoon. “Go outside and pace will you?”

John nearly turned on Rodney, then grimaced when Carson put his book down on his lap and regarded him. “It would make things a lot easier if you weren’t so tense, Sheppard.”

“Aren’t you worried about them?”

“Not the way you are.” Carson said.

They were in one of the salons - carpet, couches, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, with a small work area over by the window and a door out to the gardens. It was a common meeting place for the young witches and Blood males of Atlantis court, and could become crowded and noisy when Elizabeth was here as a natural court formed itself around her.

With Lady Melia’s sickness and the passing of the Territory to Elizabeth, that informal court would become a formal one. There’d be responsibilities and duties to the Territory - and the clash of personalities as the responsibilities were handed over. Lady Melia’s court was good at what they did - they’d been doing it for many years now - but they weren’t Elizabeth’s First Circle and would probably never be.

In the meantime, the room was somewhere for the Princes to sit and study and read - and for Warlord Princes to wait and pace and fret that there was nothing they could do.

And find themselves looking down the pointy end of a questioning by their friends.

Rodney was watching him, eyes narrowed. “Wait, wait. Sheppard and the Black Widow...?”

“She has a name!”

“Okay.” Rodney turned to Carson, flat surprise on his face. “Has he been like this the entire time?”

“Rodney!”

“Not the entire time.” Carson didn’t quite smile. “Although he has made his interest quite clear - at least to everyone else.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for expecting subtlety from a Warlord Prince.”

“And you can talk about subtlety?” John snarled, then pulled in his temper when Rodney’s eyes widened. He wasn’t usually this tense - in fact, Carson and Rodney were usually a relief to be around - at least when compared with the other Warlord Princes and Warlords. The key word was ‘usually’.

“Sorry. But they’ve been in the Twisted Kingdom for nearly six hours.”

“But that’s nothing! Some Black Widows weave vision-webs that last _days_. At least,” Rodney added, “That’s what I’ve heard. I wonder what it’s like.”

Carson half-laughed at Rodney’s reflective tone of voice. “You could always ask Lady Emmagan to take you into the Twisted Kingdom if you’re that curious, Rodney.”

“I could.” Rodney seemed to be seriously considering it. “Maybe if I asked nicely.”

“You can ask _nicely_?”

John wasn’t really noticing the by-play. Rodney’s cavalier attitude towards Teyla’s caste and capabilities seemed at odds with the tension the older males of Lady Melia’s court had shown towards her. “You’d ask her to take you into the Twisted Kingdom?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“I’d think about it.”

“So, wait. You’d crawl into her bed if she so much as crooked her finger at you, but you wouldn’t trust her to weave a dream-web for you?” Rodney shook his head. “Warlord Princes these days...”

John opened his mouth to retort and paused.

*John?*

*Elizabeth. What’s happened?*

*A Prince has arrived from Teyla’s village, come to act as escort for her.*

*That was fast.* And unexpected. John felt his temper rising at the thought of a strange male in the company of his Queen. Never mind that this Athosian Prince would have been seen by the court guards before ever being allowed into the palace, John was on edge as it was, and his Queen was being accompanied through the house by a strange male. *Where are you now?*

*Coming to you in the river salon.* Elizabeth knew her Warlord Princes well. *We’ll be there shortly.*

*How shortly?*

*Shortly.* And that was his Queen’s warning that any further inquiry would be blunted.

John turned on his heel and stalked back across the room, aware that Carson and Rodney were watching him.

“So,” Rodney said. “Why don’t you tell us what’s happening instead of sulking. I’m guessing it’s Elizabeth? Does she have news of Lady Melia and Teyla?”

“No,” John said shortly. “But a male from Athos has arrived to escort Teyla home and she’s bringing him here.”

He heard the conversation long before he saw Elizabeth - Elizabeth and not one, but two males. A moment later, he made out the second male to be Simon Wallace - a member of Lady Melia’s Fourth Circle who’d been showing particular interest in Elizabeth.

John was facing the door when they entered, and had the pleasure of seeing both males check as they saw who they faced - a Warlord Prince and two Princes.

Simon Wallace was tall and stocky, dark haired and Summer-Sky Jewelled. He occasionally shared Elizabeth’s bed and she seemed to be content with him. But it seemed obvious to John that Wallace didn’t feel the tug of connection that the other males who most commonly hung around Elizabeth felt: Carson, Rodney, Caldwell - even Sumner - had belonged to Elizabeth as a Queen. That commonality allowed them to put up with each other, even when they didn’t necessarily _like_ each other.

No such commonality existed with Wallace.

So it was with some relief that John saw Wallace touch Elizabeth on the arm and murmur something before nodding briefly at John and the others and walking away.

*Good riddance,* muttered Rodney on a Green spear thread, and John felt rather than saw Carson’s stifled amusement.

The Athosian Prince was tall and lanky, with long hair that he pulled back from his face in a half-tail. His face was long and his features lean, and his gaze met John’s squarely, fixing immediately on the greatest threat in the room.

“John, Carson, Rodney,” Elizabeth said as though the air hadn’t just charged around her. “This is Prince Halling of Athos. Prince Halling, Princes Sheppard, Beckett, and McKay.”

“Darkness guide you,” said the newcomer, his eyes never leaving John’s. His voice was deep and rich and quiet, but the pale eyes were sharp and opaque and gave no ground.

John respected that. Prince Halling didn’t scare as easily as Toran, and his Purple-Dusk Jewel would be no match for John’s. But he refused to back down immediately, holding John’s gaze as both Carson and Rodney greeted him. Then, and only then, he turned to greet them with a grave inclination of his head.

“Did you require refreshments?” Carson asked. “Teyla - Lady Teyla - indicated it’s quite a long trip from Athos.”

“It is. And I would be glad of tea, if you have any here.”

“I think we can do tea,” Elizabeth said, smiling as she passed John and her hand pressed lightly against his shoulder in reassurance and warning. “And, if we’re lucky, there might be nutcakes.”

“Oh, yes!” Rodney said. “You’ll like the nutcakes. Everyone does. So how long have you known Teyla?”

“Rodney.”

“What? I’m just being polite! I mean, Teyla’s here to weave a dream-web for Lady Melia, and it’s not like Arungen was particularly forthcoming, and since Sheppard’s trying to get her into bed...”

The temperature in the room dropped like a stone.

John felt his temper rise to the killing edge as Halling turned towards him, blue eyes accusing. The Athosian male was only a Prince - and only Purple-Dusk -Jewelled at that. Against a Sapphire Warlord Prince like John he wouldn’t stand a chance.

But even that knowledge couldn’t stop John from rising to the killing edge. He was a Warlord Prince and the revulsion staining the psychic currents through the room was more than his temper could take.

“Prince Sheppard, attend!”

Elizabeth’s attempt to keep the peace failed as Halling demanded, “What have you done? If you’ve hurt her, I swear by my Jewels--”

John snarled.

“Prince Halling!” Elizabeth’s voice was icy, her temper icier. The sudden sting of cold feminine displeasure jerked John back from the killing edge and cut Halling off. She let the silence stand for a long moment. “Prince, I assure you that Lady Teyla has been treated with the utmost courtesy during her visit.”

Thin lips pressed together. It was a moment before Halling spoke. “Then why is her escort dead?”

“Not because of John,” said Elizabeth firmly. “What were you told about Toran Arungen’s death?”

“That he died while in the city with Teyla. An attack, it was said.” The pale blue gaze rested on John. “And that Prince Sheppard was present.”

The fingers on his forearm tightened in warning. Not that John needed it - or her tight, *Let me deal with this, John.*

“Prince Sheppard has been the court escort for Lady Teyla since her arrival. He was accompanying her in the city when the Wraith attacked.”

“In the city?” The spare lines of Prince Halling’s face grew thin and still. “The Wraith?”

“Yes. It was Teyla who destroyed them - protecting Prince Sheppard in the process.”

A brief glance and a nod was Halling’s acknowledgement, but he looked back at Elizabeth. “And Prince Sheppard’s interest in Teyla?”

The silence held for a long moment. John fought the urge to step in front of his Queen and confront the other male. Elizabeth’s touch held him fast before she said quietly, “Lady Teyla has....confided in me regarding her past.”

Her past? John frowned and looked from Elizabeth - who was ignoring him - to Rodney, who had pretty much the same expression on his face as John.

“Then you know why we are concerned for her.”

*Elizabeth?*

*Shush, John.*

*Sheppard? What’s she talking about?*

*I don’t know,* he told Rodney and hoped the other male wouldn’t ask further. Rodney had already put his foot in it once with Halling of Athos; the last thing he needed to do was compound insult with injury.

“Lady Teyla has spoken a little of your village, of her life and the people there. It seems like a restful place.”

“It’s not an aristo court, Lady Weir.”

“And yet we are all Blood.”

The smile that flickered across Halling’s face was thin and sharp and slightly bitter. “Lady Weir, outside the cities, beyond the circles in which you would move, there is a saying. ‘Blood may be Blood, but there is Blood and then there is Blood.’”

“Which means exactly what?” Rodney burst out.

“It means there are courts where Protocol is applied one way to the aristos and those whose families have money, and another to everyone else,” said Carson, his voice hard and more angry than John had ever heard it before. “Prince Halling didn’t know which one this was.”

“I trust he’s satisfied that we haven’t mistreated Teyla?” John bared his teeth at the other male.

Halling had balls; John would give him that. The man didn’t quail before three males who outranked him, socially or in caste and Jewel strength, but only smiled. “Yes, I am satisfied. My apology, Lady Weir.”

“Accepted and understood.” Elizabeth indicated the couch again. “Please, have tea with us.”

Phrased in that manner from a Queen and a social superior, it wasn’t a request. Halling at least had enough court polish to recognise that. He seated himself and accepted the cup of tea passed to him, incongruously fragile porcelain framed by huge hands.

Carson started up a conversation, careful and innocuous, and soon managed to draw Halling out about the village, while Rodney nearly vibrated with impatience and curiosity about whatever it was that lay in Teyla’s past.

John would have liked to know himself, but he knew his Queen well enough to see that she wasn’t going to share what she knew - certainly not here. She hadn’t shared it last night when she warned him to step away; why would she tell him now? With Elizabeth sitting beside him, he managed to keep a careful and polite rein on his temper - at least until Halling professed himself weary and Carson offered to show him to his rooms.

“When Lady Melia and Lady Teyla return, I’ll let you know,” Elizabeth reassured him as he left. “I’m sure that Teyla will be glad to see a familiar face when she emerges from the Twisted Kingdom.”

Halling bowed. A neat bow, if not a practised one, and went with Carson.

“All right,” Rodney said, almost the instant they were out of earshot. “What happened to Teyla? I mean, she seems perfectly fine - other than being a Black Widow, which isn’t really any different to being a Warlord Prince.”

John glared, but it slid off Rodney like rain off the roof. Still, he was relieved that Rodney had broached the topic, because he wouldn’t have done it himself.

Elizabeth sighed. A moment later, John sensed a Green shield being put up around the room. “Teyla’s been studying with Lady Charin for many years now. For a while, during the summer she was seventeen, she was also studying with a Black Widow over in a neighbouring Province. She would travel to and from the Province, and sometimes stay over if it was late.” She took a deep breath and stared out the windows into the gardens. “One night, returning from her lessons, she was attacked.”

Which explained why Teyla fought so well, but didn’t explain why John had to step back...

John’s thought stuttered to a halt as he realised what Elizabeth was and wasn’t saying. His vision hazed as he leaped to the killing edge. On the table, the porcelain teapot and cups shattered, spilling hot liquid that promptly froze on the ice swiftly forming on the marble tabletop.

Rodney jerked back and stared at John. “What’s wrong with--?” He stopped and turned huge eyes on Elizabeth. “No. No, it can’t-- She’s not broken. She wears the Grey--”

“It’s not unknown for a witch to...survive with her inner web intact.” Elizabeth’s hands were clenched in her lap, the knuckles white. “Kate’s heard of it before. It’s just...not usual.”

John stood, unable to bear sitting down a moment longer. The fury in him had nowhere to go, nothing to destroy, and he paced, barely hearing the conversation between Elizabeth and Rodney. In his mind he was seeing all the carefulness in Teyla Emmagan from the moment she’d stepped off the landing web and walked into Atlantis court. The way she’d carefully held him at arm’s length, the way she swung between unconscious acceptance of his presence and wariness at it.

No wonder she treated him with such care.

“But she’s not shy or scared. I mean, she was fine when we were talking about spells the other day. And she ate with me and Carson and her escort at lunch yesterday and everything was okay!”

“Not all scars are visible, Rodney.” John bit the words out as he turned and stared out at the garden.

Witches who were broken were wary creatures at best. Whatever they’d been before - whatever potential they might have reached - after they were broken they were subdued, quiet, and watchful. John had seen a broken witch just once, back when he was a child living on his family’s estate.

Once had been enough.

Teyla wasn’t broken - she could never have worn a Jewel or practised the Hourglass Craft if she was. She would never had challenged a Warlord Prince to fight in the sparring arena if her inner web wasn’t intact. But rape would leave scars on her soul even if she hadn’t been broken, and trust of stranger males would come slowly - if it came at all.

Now Halling’s anger made sense.

John’s hands closed into fists, wanting an outlet for this rage. There was nothing he could change about what had been done to her all those years ago, nothing that he could do about it. And maybe the best thing he could do in the now was to back away from her, and leave her alone.

Something in him rebelled at the thought.

Behind him, the psychic currents of the room changed - concern and alarm from Elizabeth, tension and uncertainty from Rodney. John turned.

“What is it?”

Elizabeth was already up and moving for the door. “Lady Melia and Teyla have returned from the Twisted Kingdom.”

\--

There was a small crowd at the door of Lady Melia’s workshop - court aristos and a few hovering servants. Most turned when they felt John’s temper and scattered when they saw him coming.

“No you can’t--” Tanned skin went pale as the male guarding the door - Warlord Anders Sharam - realised who he was trying to deny entry: the next Queen of Atlantis Territory, and a Warlord Prince teetering on the killing edge.

Two strides into the room and John was no longer teetering.

A cluster of people around the couch were attending to Lady Melia.

Another cluster - entirely male - were gathered around Jorthyn, dragging him away from the brown-skinned, hollow-cheeked witch whose combination of muscle and Jewel strength were only just managing to keep the leading edge of his blade from tearing out her throat.

They were failing.

Even as John called in his weapons, he saw the blade edge a little closer, as the rage of the killing edge gave the Warlord Prince strength, and exhaustion took its toll on Teyla.

*Lady Melia’s alive,* Elizabeth told him on a private psychic thread. *Protect Teyla.*

John didn’t need telling twice.

His temper sharpened, already shredded by the knowledge of what had been done to Teyla - what it had cost her to come among strangers with nothing more than a single, trusted escort.

He swung his bladed stick to intercept Jorthyn’s blade, knocking it away and putting himself in front of the young witch whose psychic scent radiated exhaustion. She and the Lady must have come out of the Twisted Kingdom exhausted. Lady Melia’s collapse would have triggered Jorthyn’s protective instincts - and the Warlord Prince’s rage would have found the closest outlet and convenient scapegoat - Lady Teyla.

John’s own protective instincts sprang into action.

It wasn’t his right to be up in arms about something that had happened to Teyla so long ago.

But it was his right to protect and serve her now. And his Queen had given him an order to protect Teyla.

Whatever else might be said of Teyla, he trusted her - after yesterday, fighting against the Wraith in the city’s public gardens, he couldn’t not trust her. And Lady Melia had believed in Teyla too - in her skills, her abilities, her trustworthiness. Whatever had happened to the Lady in the Twisted Kingdom had happened because she’d gone into the Twisted Kingdom, not because she’d put her trust in Teyla to guide her through.

“Back away, Prince!”

“This is court business, Sheppard,” snarled the older man. “You have no right--” He jerked free of the hands trying to hold him back and lunged.

John saw it coming and deflected the blow. Then he attacked, pushing Jorthyn back as he tried to make some space for Teyla - tried to buy time for Elizabeth to help Lady Melia - perhaps the only person who could stop Jorthyn without bloodshed.

But in order to buy time, he had to keep Jorthyn occupied - without hurting him. So John blocked and defended as the Master of the Guard fought him with weapon and Jewels. He held his position, using Jewel strength, muscle, and everything he’d ever learned to counter the older man’s blows.

This wasn’t training, or even a friendly bout - it was sharp and deadly.

And John was losing.

His Jewel strength gave him a slight advantage against the older male, but his underlying wish not to kill Jorthyn disadvantaged him. He wasn’t just fighting the Green-Jewelled Warlord Prince either - he was fighting his own nature: the instinct to rise to the killing edge that made a Warlord Prince an asset in a Queen’s court, but which also made them such a dangerous caste. And Jorthyn had years of experience on John - not just in the training yards, but out on the southern borders of the Territory against the Wraith - and he hadn’t been attacked by Wraith in the city’s park yesterday.

Honesty compelled John to admit that If Lady Melia didn’t call Jorthyn back, then John wasn’t going to last much longer in the fight.

He could break Prince Jorthyn if he had to - smash through his inner barriers and destroy the other man’s Jewels, but there would be a price to be paid for it. Among the Blood there was no law against murder or breaking another Blood’s Jewels; but a price could be asked in return for what was lost - and the price could be high.

*Elizabeth?*

*Lady Melia’s coming around.*

*She might have to hurry up!*

Sweat was running down his brow, tickling his cheek, but he didn’t dare brush it away by hand or Craft. Jorthyn’s attacks were gaining intensity, and John was only just keeping the other man at bay.

And John felt the decision pressing close upon him.

The price of breaking Prince Jorthyn might well be exile from Atlantis court.

But the price of being defeated would be not only John’s death, but Teyla’s death, too.

After the incident with the broken witch, the family had arranged for her lifelong pension. It had been one of their guests who’d broken her - an accident, so it was claimed, and John’s brother Dave had asked why they’d pensioned her off when it wasn’t their fault.

 _A Warlord Prince protects and serves those who look to him,_ his father had said.

John remembered the saying more for his father’s expression of mingled anger and disappointment, which had seemed at odds with the words. But if John no longer spoke with his father, he was still his father’s son.

Had his father ever known service as a joy and a pleasure rather than a burden and a duty? John didn’t know.

John had a choice now, though. And this would be his duty and his burden to carry - the price for breaking a member of Lady Melia’s Blood Triangle in defence of a village witch.

Because - village witch or not - it was the right thing to do.

He spun the next blow off his blade, plunging down to the level of the Sapphire. He readied himself to make the blow that would punch through psychic shields and smash the inner web that represented everything the Blood was. One heartbeat, two, three...

The next moment he was yanked backwards, nearly tripping on his heel. The movement jerked him off-balance and he had just enough presence of mind to vanish his weapon before he cut his own throat. Across from him, Jorthyn was similarly sprawled across the floor.

John steadied himself against the wall, dizzy with the unexpected blow.

Teyla’s hands were clenched around her Gray Jewel as she rolled unsteadily to her knees, knuckles straining through her skin as she held the two men back through force of Craft, strength of Jewel, and rigid will. Even as John watched, her shoulders heaved with the effort of holding herself upright. She looked exhausted, and thinner than she had even this morning - her body had run out of energy and begun consuming itself as the power of her Jewels sought fuel.

He reached for her with a psychic touch. *You shouldn’t be--*

*Do not tell a Widow what she can do, Prince.* Her words were sharp as a slap, barely gentled by her addition of, *But thank you for your intervention,* but John leaned into the link, craving the sharpness of the contact.

*Are you okay?*

She didn’t answer him.

Down on the floor, Jorthyn was struggling against Teyla’s invisible restraints - and all John could think was that he really had to persuade her to teach him how to do that - but a single word halted him where he lay.

“Jorthyn.”

Lady Melia stood at the edge of the seating space, one hand resting on the back of a couch. Beyond her, the Healers hovered, and Prince Hodar stood stiff and disapproving.

But she was the Queen.

“Lady,” Jorthyn said, and his voice was hoarse. “I serve.”

“I know.” Lady Melia held up her hand to keep him from saying anything else. Instead she turned to Teyla. “Lady Emmagan, are you injured?”

Slowly, Teyla’s fingers unclenched from the Jewel around her neck and her hands fell to her knees. “No.”

Lady Melia looked at her, her eyes sharp and questioning. “In any way?”

“No, my Lady.”

There was a murmur of disbelief among the Healers, but if there was doubt, nobody was going to gainsay Teyla when it was clear the Queen wished to speak with her.

“Then I apologise for the zeal of my Master of the Guard. And,” Melia continued, “I wish to thank your for your assistance. I know...” Here, the Queen paused for a moment as though to gather her breath, but waved away the arm that Lord Aethar offered her for escort, continuing to grip the back of the chair. “I know it was not an easy journey for you to make - that you have had a difficult time of it here in Atlantis court, but I am grateful that you were willing to come to me, and doubly grateful for your guidance and protection in the Twisted Kingdom.”

“I serve as Charin would have served.”

“Yes.” And at that moment, Lady Melia was most definitely the Queen. “You do. And Atlantis Territory owes you for your service you’ve done - not only today, but yesterday in defending against the Wraith incursion in the park, at the cost of your own escort. I offered you a favour of your own choosing before this, and I offer it again today - in the presence of my First Circle and these witnesses.”

It was clear she was tired, but it was also clear she felt Teyla should be acknowledged right now. Her own needs were strong, but she was also aware of her court and the needs of those who served.

Aware of the need of a young Black Widow who’d nearly been killed by her Warlord Prince.

“Thank you. I...have nothing to ask for right now.”

“Except a meal and undisturbed rest, no doubt.” A hint of a smile touched her lips, weary but amused. “I’ll have Lady Weir and Prince Sheppard see you to your rooms, then. And we will speak tomorrow in private.”

She crossed the room to kneel beside Jorthyn, and Elizabeth quickly stepped over to help Teyla to her feet. Her assistance was repulsed as soon as Teyla found her feet, but Elizabeth jerked her head at John, indicating that she wanted his escort for Teyla.

John prised himself off the wall, feeling more than a little weak at the knees as the full impact of what he’d almost done came home to roost.

He’d nearly destroyed a male of the court - one of Lady Melia’s Blood Triangle, her intimate circle - for a witch he’d met less than a week ago. Only Teyla’s intervention had kept him from breaking Prince Jorthyn’s Jewels.

And she’d done that _after_ walking the Twisted Kingdom for the better part of a day.

Whatever else might be said of Teyla Emmagan, she was not a safe witch.

John drew on his Jewels for strength as he held out his arm to Teyla and prayed to the Darkness that she wouldn’t reject it here in front of the rest of Lady Melia’s court. After a brief hesitation, during which John suspected Elizabeth urged Teyla not to refuse him, she rested her hand atop his just as she had that first morning, light enough to be almost a caress.

*Rein it in, John.*

He didn’t need Elizabeth’s warning. Especially now he had an idea of what it must cost Teyla to even accept his courtesies. But he couldn’t help his concern or his courtesy. He was a Warlord Prince of the Blood, after all.

“You’ll see a Healer, of course,” he said as they walked towards the door. Her chill was instant and palpable.

“I have no need of a Healer.”

Of course she didn’t. John’s eyes narrowed, and he butted his hand under hers, feeling the lightness of her hand in the ease with which he lifted it. Yeah, she didn’t need a keeper. At all. “Tell that to your body. Did you eat enough this morning for the journey into the Twisted Kingdom?”

One delicate brow arched, and he felt her annoyance like a sting against his skin. “I hardly see how that is any business of yours.”

It was his business because John was going to make it his business.

He wasn’t sure when he’d made the decision - sometime between when they’d received the news that Teyla and Lady Melia had returned, and just now.

Yes, John was interested in Teyla Emmagan, Athosian Black Widow. And maybe she wasn’t willing to entertain his interest after what she’d been through in her life. Maybe she didn’t want a lover, or the interference of a male in her life.

Too bad.

The part of him which had trained as a fighter and a strategist could see both Lady Melia and Elizabeth were more than happy with Teyla’s work as a Black Widow. After what she’d done today, Teyla wouldn’t return to Athos to live out a quiet, unremarkable life - if she could have lived such a life in any case. She’d be in Atlantis court, in the midst of the highest Circles of power in Atlantis Territory.

And John would be right there, in those Circles, too.

At the least, John was going to make Teyla consider him, instead of rejecting him out of hand. She could say no to him as a lover, but he would never let her say no to him as a male who served. He was used to working around a stubborn female - hadn’t he served Elizabeth most of his life?

Compared with a Queen who’d always known she’d rule a court with Warlord Princes in it, a Black Widow who’d only ever lived with the lesser male castes would be simple.

“Do I want to know why you are smiling, Prince Sheppard?”

He turned his head enough to look her in the eye and smile - not the predatory one, but his most harmless, charming smile. “Probably not.”

Teyla studied him for a moment, her expression faintly suspicious. She didn’t complain, _Men_ , the way Elizabeth and the other young witches of Atlantis court would, but John could see the thought there in the faint lift of her brows, in the pursing of wide warm lips, in the narrowing of velvet eyes. He could feel her pique as sharply as though it lay against his skin like a blade.

John smiled all the way back to her rooms.

\--

They had parties in Athos, as Teyla told Leanna most politely.

“ _But not like this, I’m sure._ ”

Considering the gatherings in Athos were for Planting, Midsummer, Harvest, and Winsol, and usually held in the Athos barn, no, their parties were not like this at all.

Witchlights gleamed from the chandeliers overhead, and curtained alcoves led to open windows and great glass doors that spilled the perfume and laughter and light out into the wide marble balcony and the gardens below. There was wine and food if one was hungry, and dancing and conversations that flowed as richly and easily as the wine.

Teyla refused to look intimidated, even if she felt it - just a little.

“We’re not so bad, you know,” Prince Beckett said with a wry smile.

She regarded him with no small amount of query. “Does it show so obviously?”

He laughed, an easy laugh, and comfortable. “Not at all, in fact. But you’re doing fine - not that you need me to tell you that.”

“It is always good to be reassured.”

“That it is.” He regarded her empty glass. “Did you want another? Or some food?”

“I believe Prince McKay went to get food and drinks. Halling is with him now.” She indicated over by the buffet, where Halling was listening to whatever it was Prince McKay was saying with a slightly glazed expression in his eyes.

“Ah. I wouldn’t recommend trusting Rodney to bring anything back for you, Lady Emmagan. He gets...single-minded.”

“About a great many things,” Teyla murmured. Then her cheeks heated. “I did not mean...”

Prince Beckett just laughed. “Yes, you did. But it’s not untrue.”

“But unkind.”

“Rodney does lend himself to a little unkindness every now and then.” Blue eyes grinned at her, and after a moment, Teyla smiled back.

Prince Jorthyn’s distrust - indeed, the distrust of all the males of the Blood Triangle - was not the only response in Atlantis to Teyla’s presence in court, nor even the response of their Queen. No more were Leanna’s sneers regarding her social inferiority representative of the views of Lady Elizabeth or the males who were closest to her.

Teyla thought she would do well to remember that.

Halling arrived with another glass of watered wine, and a plate of food which Teyla could see she was going to be required to eat.

“Prince McKay saw someone he wished to speak with and abandoned me,” he said as he handed her the filled dish.

“Yes, well, Rodney tends to do that.” Prince Beckett allowed as Teyla eyed the contents of the plate.

In two days she had almost regained the weight lost during the trip into the Twisted Kingdom. She had also endured more fussing and fretting than any witch should have to endure from males who were neither relatives nor her close circle.

Lady Elizabeth’s males had apparently decided to consider her one of their own - from Prince McKay’s frown in the middle of a discussion and his demand that she wrap a blanket around her because he was feeling cold, to Prince Sheppard’s air of possessive involvement when he played escort around the estate.

Now, presented with the plate and two Princes who looked adamantly at her, Teyla sighed and ate as was expected of her. Halling and Prince Beckett conversed in easy tones about the village, the court, and the people in the room, and she listened with half an ear. Prince Beckett was not behindhand about relating the more subtle histories of the members of court, but he was not gossipy, either. A good choice of male for Lady Elizabeth’s Blood Triangle when it formed.

And it would form soon.

Something had changed while Teyla had taken Lady Melia into the Twisted Kingdom. The currents of uncertainty she’d felt that first morning had gone still, the underlying dissonance resolved. Whatever Lady Melia had seen in the tangled webs and visions of the Twisted Kingdom, she had emerged reassured.

Teyla was not so sure.

Perhaps it was that the visions she remembered were not the ones Lady Melia recalled - although they had seen the same things. Certain details of the dreams had been clearer to one than the other, and there were dreams that were only half-remembered by one, while the other had recalled every detail.

What Teyla recalled had seemed dire enough.

A wasteland, sucked dry of life, harsh with the dust of despair and a male who roamed it, seeking something beyond his finding. A witch clad in Widow’s weeds lying on a web speckled with Jewel chips of every colour from Gray to White, the blood seeping from the wound in her side staining the strands of the web until it covered every tether and radial line. A male who hung between two posts in a bright garden, his back bloody, his shoulder striped, but his defiance like a haze around him. A Dark-Jewelled Queen ruling from a throne, the witchlight gleaming off vivid red hair.

All that and much more, blurring before her eyes like tears staining her vision.

And then, when they’d come out of the Twisted Kingdom, Lady Melia had collapsed, Prince Jorthyn had risen to the killing edge.

Teyla had been fortunate to survive.

Fortunate also, she admitted as witchlight gleamed off black hair and hazel eyes turned her way, to have Prince Sheppard willing to step in and defend her against a fellow member of Lady Melia’s court. He had been gathering his strength just before she had intervened; Teyla had felt his descent to the core of his power, even if few others had.

He had been willing to break Prince Jorthyn in exchange for the life of a village witch whom he hardly knew.

Teyla was not sure whether to call it stupidity or bravery. Halling had called it both, swinging between admiration of Prince Sheppard’s actions and wariness of his interest in Teyla.

In the end, Teyla had needed to be blunt, informing Halling that it was her right to decide if she wished to encourage Prince Sheppard’s interest, let it remain, or reject it.

She still had not decided what she would do.

Having Prince Sheppard in her bed - assuming she could bear to allow a male such intimacy - would be an experience. Teyla was quite sure of that. She was also very sure that one did not welcome the interest of a Warlord Prince lightly.

He and Lady Elizabeth were speaking with Lady Melia even now. From the look on Lord Aethar’s face where he stood beside Lady Melia, the topic was not pleasant to him, and even John seemed somewhat chastened by whatever was being discussed.

His gaze skimmed Lady Melia’s shoulder and alighted on hers. Teyla fought the urge to look away and the urge to hold his gaze in challenge. Instead, she smiled a little, shrugged a little, and let her gaze flick back to where her companions were discussing a matter of Province trade agreements - a matter close to Halling’s heart, and apparently one matched by Prince Beckett.

“Are you still hungry?” Halling’s gaze fixed on her empty plate. “I can get you some more of the spiced nuts...”

“So you may eat half of them?” Teyla retorted, smiling as she turned to Prince Beckett. “He thinks I do not notice.”

Halling snorted “I trust that old friendship will keep you from violence.”

“And does it?”

“Not always.” He turned his head as Lady Elizabeth came over, escorted by Prince Sheppard. “Lady Weir. Prince Sheppard. I hope Lady Melia is well.”

“She’s recovering, but it will take time. She knew the risks when she asked for Lady Teyla’s service, and accepts what has happened.”

“And her Triangle?”

A hint of a shadow flitted across the fine boned features. “They obey their Queen in this.”

“As they should,” Prince Sheppard said, ignoring the disbelieving looks turned upon him by not only Halling and Prince Beckett, but Elizabeth also. “Lady Teyla, would you like to dance?”

She glanced involuntarily out on the floor, where the aristos of Atlantis Territory danced and chattered and laughed - and watched the village Black Widow with curious eyes.

Would she like to make a fool of herself before Atlantis court? No. But there was a challenge in Prince Sheppard’s question - much like the challenge that had been in his eyes that day during introductions. And a hint of something else, perhaps - an uncertainty that seemed out of place in the nature of a Warlord Prince.

“I do not know the steps,” she pointed out, even as the current dance finished and the music struck up - a graceful, elegant waltz that flowed smoothly from one melodic line to the next.

“This one doesn’t have any,” he said, and offered her his hand. “It’s a waltz.”

After a moment, she took it and let him lead her out onto the floor.

As his hand rested warm in the small of her back, and his fingers curled around hers, Teyla reminded herself to breathe. She had faced antagonistic Blood Triangles and Wraith attackers while at Atlantis court; a Warlord Prince showing interest was nothing, surely?

“You’re doing just fine.”

“I’m sorry?”

He smiled, light and warm. “The dancing - you’re doing fine at it.”

“Perhaps it is that I have a good dancing partner.”

“Oh, that helps, too.” Dark strands tossed as he turned to glance around them, then looked back down at her. His face was closer to hers than was entirely comfortable. “Look, I don’t think I ever said ‘thanks’ for saving my life the other day against the Wraith.”

“And I have not thanked you for your intervention with Prince Jorthyn.”

He shrugged. “It was the right thing to do.”

“That does not diminish my appreciation. And we have neither of us thanked the other, so we are even.”

Prince Sheppard’s mouth quirked. “Are we keeping score, now?”

“I promise not to need saving if you do not.”

The hand on her waist tightened suddenly, his fingers pressing hot through the silk of her dress, and Teyla caught her breath. Heat in her belly, pooling between her thighs - unthinking desire in which she could so easily float free - or drown.

She kept her reactions deep within her shields, but could not stop herself from tensing under his hand.

“Sorry.” His grip loosened again, but he made no explanation, and after a moment, Teyla accepted she wasn’t going to get one. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“I am not made of cobwebs. As you will recall.”

The Prince made a noise like a snort. “I’m not likely to forget. Actually, I think you’re more like spidersilk. Stronger than you look.”

“May I take that as a compliment?”

“It was meant to be one.” Unthinking charm - not even calculated, Teyla thought as his gaze rested on her mouth. She was not immune to it - a witch would be dead or dotard before she failed to appreciate the courtesy - but she was cautious.

The invitation was there, plainly enough.

And yet.

Teyla could take Prince Sheppard into her rooms and let him touch her, tease her, pleasure her as court males were taught to do for visiting witches. But she looked from his eyes to his mouth, and then away along the line of his jaw and over his shoulder.

She could not.

Whatever else she could make herself believe, she was not ready for John Sheppard in her bed. Perhaps someday in the future, but not yet.

It was not a realisation without regret. The heat of desire was not easily dismissed. But if she was to take a lover, it would not be a casual thing - pleasure in bed for a night, then dismissal in the morning. She was not willing to play that game.

Then, too, Teyla sensed about Prince Sheppard a hint of...more.

They could be more than merely lovers, casual or otherwise, but friends - as foolish as a friendship between a village Black Widow and an aristo Warlord Prince divided by half the length of the Territory might be.

Yet in spite of the foolishness, Teyla was not willing to jeopardise that fledging potential - not yet. Perhaps some day or some night, but not today or tonight.

And so she met his gaze with her refusal in her eyes, and he accepted her denial in silent ruefulness before starting up a conversation about her use of Craft in a fight.

When the waltz ended with a stately cadence, Teyla was almost glad of the cool of the night air whispering through the fluid silk of her dress again.

“Thank you for the dance, Prince.”

“We’re not in formal court,” he said. “You can call me John.”

“Then you may call me Teyla.”

“Oh, I will.” With a smile, he led her off the floor over to where Elizabeth was talking and Halling was looking uncomfortable.

“I think that’s for Teyla to answer.” The look he cast her way entreated her assistance, and Teyla was somewhat amused by his desperation. “Lady Weir has a request to make of you.”

“It’s actually an invitation,” Elizabeth said. “Well, and a request. Lady Melia suggested that the tour of the Territory this Winsol include Athos. If that wouldn’t be too great a burden on the village.”

A Territory Queen to visit Athos village? “It would be an honour,” Teyla said in all honesty. “Although our hospitality would not be so fine, your party would be most welcome.”

“And, I was thinking, that when Winsol comes, you - and Prince Halling - might like to come to court for the Longest Night.”

Teyla heard the resonances beneath Lady Elizabeth’s words, felt the subtle truth in the invitation - that it was not being made on Lady Melia’s behalf, but Elizabeth’s. She had seen truly out in the orchards, then; when Winsol came, it would not be Lady Melia who ruled.

She glanced at Halling, who looked helpless - uncertain whether he could refuse this request, or if it was a command by the witch who would be Territory Queen. Courtly protocol was not his strength - no more than it was Teyla’s.

Yet in the last few days she had developed a sense of this court, of the aristos who populated it, of their honour and duty and desire. Prince Sheppard was not the least of it, but he was a good indicator of the court that would rise to power under Lady Elizabeth’s rule in the coming moons.

Strength and honour and honesty and doing what was right.

No terrible thing for a Territory Queen’s court.

“Halling cannot,” she said, after a moment. “Jeren, his wife, is pregnant again and her time is close to Winsol.”

“Then congratulations are in order.” Elizabeth smiled at Halling while he murmured thanks and shrugged a little at Carson’s felicitations, muttering that it was Jeren who was doing the hardest work.

Green eyes turned on Teyla, then - a curious entreaty in them. Lady Elizabeth Weir was a Queen - she needed no village witch to approve her actions. And when she was Queen of the Territory, she could command if she so chose.

Instead, she was asking, as though Teyla’s acceptance mattered.

“Will you come at Winsol, then, Teyla?”

The question hung in the air, fine as the last, lacy frost on the eaves before the thaw came through, poignant as the silence after a Queen breathed her last. And Teyla glimpsed a hint of what Lady Melia had seen in Atlantis’ future, and her own part in what lay ahead for Territory, Queen, and court - and a Black Widow from a village out of nowhere.

Teyla looked at Halling who shrugged again, at Prince Beckett who arched his brows in good-natured query, at Prince Sheppard whose expression gave little away but whose psychic scent quivered like a hunter to the hunt.

And Teyla was no hunted thing.

And yet...

Perhaps there might someday be space in her life for a Warlord Prince’s interest.

Perhaps.

In the meantime... She met Elizabeth’s eyes square and saw understanding and relief in them even before she gave her answer. “I will.” **  
**

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally the first part of a large two-part story that followed Elizabeth's rise, and John and Teyla's developing relationship. However, I don't really have the time or inclination to finish it, and so it's most likely destined to go unwritten.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed this!


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